


Tactical Unity

by GoddessOfGanon



Category: Fire Emblem, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Alternate Universe, Arranged Marriage, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-31
Updated: 2015-11-21
Packaged: 2018-04-18 05:32:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 28,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4693892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoddessOfGanon/pseuds/GoddessOfGanon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU where Frederick agrees to marry Robin to ensure her a credible position within the Shepherds. They'll have to learn to trust each other in the midst of the war against Plegia and conflicting feelings that can't be ignored.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Loyal to a Fault

_A city with streets paved in gold . . ._

Robin found difficulty in keeping up pace with the Shepherds as they walked leisurely across the world she was just beginning to know. Ylisse rose before them like the start of a dream. She had never seen a city of such luxury- at least, not that she could remember. It had been no more than a day since she had awoken in that field and taken Chrom’s hand, that she had been rushed into a life that didn’t allow for her to be one step behind. She had seen fire, and fear, and though she had accepted that there was no turning back, the ever watchful eye of Frederick the Wary kept her vigilant of making any misstep that might cast her aside from the people she had already come to rely on.

                She broke into a jog to catch up with Chrom and Lissa, who had stopped outside a ring formed in the square of the town. The streets were bustling that day; merchants making loud calls to entice people to their shops,  mothers with young children buying the weeks wares, the occasional soldier. Though the rhythm of the town had seemed to direct itself to a new target. Sidling her way in between the crowd, Robin stood next to Chrom, standing on her toes to see above the heads of those in front of her. Noting her arrival, Chrom turned to her and beamed, “The Exalt- Lady Emmeryn herself.”

                Robin could just make out the blonde hair, the golden halo of the figure who had gathered the attention of the entire town. The mark of Ylisse on her forehead was unmistakable. The Exalt grinned, bearing the face of an angel among her subjects as she made her way through the crowd, which parted like a sea for her. “The Exalt of Ylisse out among commoners? Is that safe?” Robin gaped, stepping aside equally as reverently as Emmeryn passed her, close enough to reach out and grab. Her robes were made out of finer fabric than she had ever seen, adding to the radiance that seemed to gleam off her skin. She was the sun among them.

                “Emmeryn stands for the best thing about the halidom- Peace.” Chrom explained. “She prizes her relationship with her people, and in return they trust her fully. No one would dare attempt anything here, least they want an entire village on their back. She really is the best thing to happen to this kingdom.”

                Robin nodded in mute agreement. “She is beautiful.”

                “Of course she is!” Lissa piped up, an impish glint appearing in her eyes. “Where do you think I get my good looks from?”

                “What?” Robin scrutinized Lissa’s face, for a sign that she was playing a prank, and some resemblance to the Exalt. They had the same light eyes and blonde hair, but wasn’t such fairness common in Ylisse? “You’re related to the Exalt?”

                “Mhm,” Lissa grinned and hooked an arm around Chrom’s shoulder. “She’s the best big sister we could ask for." Robin looked to Chrom’s face to disprove this, though his smile held sincerity

                “But that would make you two . . .”

                “The prince and princess of Ylisse, yes.” Frederick spoke, regarding the pair fondly. Something like the ghost of a smirk tugged at Frederick’s lips. He seemed to have found some amusement in Robin’s stupefaction. It made sense then why the knight was so protective over them, even going so far as to pick up any pebbles that lay in their way. Why he saw her as such a threat. She didn’t forgive him for acting so coldly to her, but she had to give him the credit that she would have done the same, had she been tasked with guarding them.

                “I- you must forgive me for being so informal with you both, milord, milady. Had I know you two were royalty, I would have _never-”_

“Relax, Robin.” Chrom laughed, dropping a hand to her shoulder. “I wouldn’t have you treat either of us any differently. Now come on, I want Emm to be the first to meet our new tactician.”

 

Robin was led to the castle’s throne room, pillared on either side and as vast the field she had awoken in. High, arched windows allowed the golden afternoon light to pool across the marble floors, in where Robin could see her own reflection as she kept her head downcast as they crossed the room to where Emmeryn sat on the raised dais, gracefully reclined on her throne.  

                “Chrom, Lissa,” Her voice, measured and light, called to them. “Phila spoke of some rogues on the border. Are you alright?”

                “The situation has been controlled.” Frederick informed her, stepping in front of Robin as if he could conceal her from the Exalt. She could have sidestepped him, though Robin wasn’t sure if she was prepared to face Emmeryn herself. She still felt dazed from their walk through the palace, where the hallways seemed endless and gold covered every conceivable surface. She felt like a vagrant among such fine things, like Frederick’s opinion of her was starting to rub off on herself.

                Chrom updated his sister to their encounters, names still extraneous to her like _Plegia_ and _King Gangrel_ dripping into the conversation, making her head spin. She knew little of Ylisse’s neighboring nations, though that would have to make a rapid change if she wanted to prove herself as a capable tactician. “ . . . if we hadn’t picked up Robin, the battle would not have gone so smoothly, I assure you.” Chrom turned around, seeking Robin. Frederick stepped to the side, revealing Robin to the Exalt, who had stood from her throne and was looking at her with a gratified measure of expectancy.

                “Ah, Robin. You have my eternal thanks for protecting Ylisse.” She smiled, seeming to glow from every angle in the light streaming in from the windows.  “Though your garb is foreign to me. Pray, where do you hail from?”

                “I-I am not sure, your highness.” Robin stammered, feeling her cheeks flush. She caught Frederick’s unimpressed stare from the corner of her eye. He thought she was putting on an act.

                “Robin has amnesia.” Lissa explained, with such eagerness Robin wasn’t sure if she should be grateful for. She didn’t want to be presented as some jest or amusement in front of the Exalt, not when she was considering Chrom’s offer to take the role of the Shepherd’s prime strategist. “She didn’t know her own name at first! She knew Chrom’s though, strange, right? Still, you should have seen her when we had to take down some ruffians. She knew things about the battlefield that none of the rest of us did! That’s why Chrom made her tactician.”

                “Tactician?” Emmeryn repeated, some of the color leaving her cheeks. “She is becoming a member of the Shepherds?” She attempted to keep some indifference, enlightenment, to her features, but her disbelief was apparent. Her attendant, Phila, did not try to mask her disdain. Robin fought the urge to wither where she stood.

                Emmeryn looked past them, to Frederick, needing his word on the matter. Robin turned to see him shake his head, and she would have shot him the darkest look she knew how to make if she were not in the presence of the Exalt. “I cannot say that Robin’s intentions do not seem pure, but there is no way for us to know her true intent. I have seen some fair actors in my day, she may just as well be one of them.”

                “My only intention is to serve Ylisse.” Her voice wavered as her cheeks flushed with anger. She felt her hands forming into fists, which she quickly shoved into her pockets.

                “What’s that on your hand?” Phila, who had been watching Robin’s movements with vigilance, inquired. Unfurling her hand, Robin withdrew it from her cloak and regarded the shadowy mark with some disdain.

                “I know not. Could be a tattoo of some sort, but I couldn’t tell you its meaning.” She looked to Chrom to offer something more to endorse her, but even he regarded the mark with some wariness. Did he see something in the stain that Robin did not?

                Emmeryn cleared her throat, drawing the small crowd’s attention back towards the dais. “Well, Chrom, I can’t say that I should have much authority within the Shepherds. If it were up to me, they would not be necessary, as peace would be sustainable throughout the halidom. Therefore I will accept your judgement as true as fact. Robin shall be one of us now.” Chrom grinned and dipped his head in gratitude, while Robin felt Frederick’s eyes glare daggers at the back of her head.

                The Exalt stepped down from the dais to extend her hand to Robin, who shook it with the hand that lacked any strange markings. “Welcome to the Shepherds, Robin.” Emmeryn told her, gracing the new tactician with one of her angelic smiles, though anyone in the kingdom would be able to tell that she did not mean it.

 

After supper, which was quiet and unremarkable and slightly awkward, where Robin thought her presence had been the main contribution to, Phila had called Chrom and Frederick to one of the castle’s board rooms, typically used for discussing battle strategies in private. Emmeryn had retired early, citing a headache, and Lissa had taken the new tactician to her chambers, where Robin would be staying in the room adjacently reserved for guests. The castle had been quieter than usual that night. Maribelle hadn’t appeared in Lissa’s chambers for their evening gossip session, Vaike hadn’t been hanging about to crack jokes, mainly at Frederick’s expense. The Shepherds, who had seemed kind enough to Robin when Lissa had introduced her to them that afternoon, had made themselves scant, and Robin realized that their cordiality must have been for the princess’s expense alone.  It seemed a low blow, though Robin didn’t blame them. As desperate as she was to have them believe it, she realized how absurd her story was, and unbelievable. She was half hoping for her memories to return so she could return to her previous home, as inviting as Chrom’s offer sounded to her, it had been made in haste. It wasn’t her place here.

                "Though I do not understand it, I see you are not willing to budge on the subject of Robin's place among your ranks. Emmeryn does not wish to direct you otherwise, however we are both hesitant to present someone whose memories do not extend beyond a day as the sole guide to our kingdom's troops. If we wish the people, as well as the other Shepherds, to accept her, I suggest her backstory remain in secrecy."

                Chrom grimaced at the thought of lying to his friends, but his mind went first to Maribelle, the most untrusting of the Shepherds, and those like her. The residents of Ylisse adored Emmeryn for her transparency, yet she would lie to them over something as seemingly nondescript as Robin's background? "What would you have us do?" He asked Phila, who he noted had not met his nor Frederick's eyes for the duration of their meeting. 

                Phila steepled her fingers, leaning forward with some apologetic earnest on her sallow features. “Mayhap you present her as something other than an itinerant stranger you came across in a field. Something with a bit more decorum.”

                “Such as?”

                “A wife.”

                A blush broke across Chrom’s cheeks. “Well, I-I’m not so sure about that, I mean-” Phila silenced him with a raise of her hand.

                “Be at peace, sir Chrom. We won’t go as far as to arrange a royal wedding for such pretense. You are at no time in your life to be getting married, as I am sure the entire halidom would agree. However, you, Frederick  . . . ” The knight started in his seat as he realized the implication in the shift of her tone. “Your word is as good as law. So if you introduced Robin as a woman you met in a nearby village while you were attending to some matters for the kingdom, I daresay no one would question it. They would accept it, in fact, and Robin would be granted the authority of a tactician that sir Chrom seems so adept to bestow upon her. Granted this plan only works if she is indeed as trustworthy as the prince believes her to be.” She added under her breath.

                “Which we don’t know,” Frederick interjected, leaning forward in his chair. “We can’t trust this woman, we can’t take her word for certain. And you ask me to present her as my wife? If- _when-_ we find her to truly be a spy for Plegia, it is _my_ reputation that is destroyed!”

                “Frederick, please.” Chrom laid a hand on the knight’s shoulder, a look of hurt crossing his face. “I trust Robin fully, and so does Lissa. You saw her fight with us, no hesitance. I wouldn’t abandon her in that field and I will not abandon her now. I realize it is much to ask of you, and I fully realize the implications of this situation taking a negative turn, but I know that it will not. Robin is part of the team. She is going to lead us to victory against Plegia, of that I am certain. Can you not have some confidence in her? In _me?”_

Frederick remained silent for some moment’s time, before his fealty to his prince finally broke him. “I will do it for you, milord. Truthfully I cannot remember a time when your judgement led us astray before, though I must keep some reserve until I come to my own conclusion about Robin."

               Phila breathed a sigh of relief, the steeple of her fingers collapsing as she fished through her statchel for a small pouch she had retrieved from the castle’s vaults before the meeting, as she was an optimist at heart. “You’ll be needing this, then.” She tossed the pouch to Frederick, who caught it with nimble fingers. He emptied its contents into his palm. If Robin wasn’t a traitor before, this ring might convince her. She could sell it at the nearest pawn shop and fetch a price that matched the entire Regna Ferox. “It should fit, though let me know if it needs to be resized.” Phila told him, already standing, eager to alert the Exalt to his compliance. emmeryn had been skeptical to Phila's proposition, reluctant too, though the woman hadn't any idea why. 

                Chrom whistled, recognizing the ring and its value immediately, and mistaking the blush in Frederick’s cheeks entirely. “Go get her, tiger.”

                “Oh, gods.” He sighed.

 

Robin had been thankful to be awoken from her fitful dreams by the urgent knocking on the door, though such relief dwindled when she found it was Frederick standing in the shadowed corridor.

                “Frederick?” She didn’t attempt to guise the note of surprise in her voice as she stepped into the hall and drew the door shut behind her as to not wake Lissa, who slept soundly in the neighboring room. “Is there something I can do for you?”

                “Yes, there is.” He coughed awkwardly into his fist before withdrawing the ring lent to him from the royal treasury from his jacket pocket. “You can marry me.”


	2. Secondary Proposals

_You can marry me._

_“What?”_ She must have misheard. She must have been dreaming. Except, even a dream couldn’t be so absurd. Frederick loathed her, of that he made certain.

                Noting her daze, Frederick hurriedly explained the decision made in the board room, making sure to emphasize his reluctance in involvement. His arm had been twisted, so their hands would be tied. There would be no love involved, it was purely strategic. Robin could appreciate strategy, couldn’t she? Quoting Phila and Chrom near verbatim, he watched the slow apprehension sink into her. “We are without the luxury of time to get you acquainted to the kingdom. Chrom believes you possess some tactical skill, and we need that skill now. You wish to travel with the Shepherds, so it would be logical for you to travel beneath my wing.”

                Nodding mutely, Robin rubbed the butt of her palm against her eye, still with sleep, and slouched against the doorframe. “Have I come at a bad time?” Frederick inquired, taking in for the first time her bedraggled hair and the fact that she was dressed down to nearly her smallclothes.

                “Well,” She replied, clearing her throat. “I can’t imagine there would have been a better time to hear your offer.” Her eyes narrowed then, as she looked up at him. “What’s in this for you? I mean, why would you stick your neck out this far for a stranger like me?”

                Frederick refrained from rolling his eyes. “If it pleases master Chrom, I will do anything. Also, seeing as my objections to this particular matter were overruled, I intend to fulfill this task with the little grace I have left.”

                “Do you really think it will change what people think of me?” She asked lowly, remembering the untrusting looks passed among the Shepherds when Lissa had introduced her to them, looks they thought she hadn’t seen.

                Frederick bristled, drawing insult from her words, not the insecurity dealt on her own part. “I should inform you that my rank among Ylisse’s troops is nothing to scoff at. Before you came along it was I who made the executive decisions. As for character, I am sound, and my company is pleasant enough. Any woman I would chose to marry would have to be of near equal standard, and I would demand she be given the utmost respect.”

                “Lucky woman,” Robin muttered under her breath, before an idea came to her. “You do realize that now you’re going to have to treat me with some modicum of decency, right?”

                “I realized that on my walk down here and decided that I will treat you as you treat me. Simple.”

                “And we’ll have to spend time together. We’ll have to look like we’re enjoying it.” The ghost of a smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth. From the time they had spent together, and what was spoken of him by Lissa and Chrom, any expression of affection from his would present a challenge to withdraw.

                “You’re being absurd. Just give me your hand, Robin. This is solely for your benefit.”

                Robin watched her left hand shake as she held it in front of her, something that would seem normal in the delight of accepting a proposal, though hers held much more trepidation than the common bride. He slide the ring on her finger with no further preamble, not meeting her eyes while he did so. It fit perfectly; the band of white gold set with a diamond the size of a cherry, surrounded by smaller inlays of opal. It was beautiful, but dreadful at the same time. Her throat tightened as she racked her mind for what she should say to him. Did she thank him? Scorn him for being so affable to the prince, so determined to serve? He must have protested this greatly, she thought. But she found it hard to believe he had ever denied Chrom anything.

                Robin thought that would be the end of it, until Frederick withdrew something else from the pouch from where he kept the ring. “These will cover the mark on your hand.” He said to her, holding out a small pair of brown fingerless gloves.

                “Oh- thank you.” She tugged the fabric over her hands, effectively concealing the strange purple mark that marred her skin not unlike the brand of Ylisse marked Emmeryn and Chrom. Still visible, however, was her ring, in all its dazzling permanence of who she now belonged to. When she looked up, the knight was already halfway down the corridor, having said all he felt was necessary.

                “Frederick,” She called after him. He turned slightly, his profile outlined in the light of one of the torches pegged along the corridor.  “I understand you would do anything for the Prince of Ylisee. I would too. I want to prove myself as a valuable addition to the Shepherds, and if this is what that takes, then so be it. I accept out of reverence for the kingdom, just as you did.”

                He nodded, a slight dip of his chin. “For both our sakes, I pray you speak the truth.”

                With those parting words, he turned on his heel as continued down the corridor. Robin, finding no purpose in standing in the hall alone, returned to Lissa’s chambers to what she knew would be a sleepless night. She collapsed onto her bed with a sigh, then a shiver, the first lie she would remember ever telling settling over her. The ring felt like a vice on her finger, a reminder embedded to her skin. She prayed to Naga for guidance, for sleep. She felt that neither of them would come, until at least she felt her eyes fall closed.

* * *

 

The morning light burned red against her closed eyelids as Robin groaned and prayed for a delay to the day. She threw an arm over her eyes, though it was of little use. She was awake, and even without seeing it, she felt the presence of the ring on her left hand. It had been no dream, with Frederick in the corridor, a memory forever colored with gratitude and nausea.

                It was a near powerless feeling, knowing that the kingdom wouldn’t trust her, not knowing where she came from. As suspicious a story as it were, Robin was in no way pleased by Chrom’s remedy. She’d have to ask him later if he solved all his problems with diamonds. 

                A shadow passed over her, darkening the light streaming over her face. Robin picked her arm over her eyes to find Lissa regarded her enquiringly, head tilted to the side, already dressed and ready to face the day that Robin had been so earnestly postponing. “What are you doing wearing my great aunt Celica’s ring?” She asked, not with any suspicious but an honest curiosity.

                “I’m engaged.” Robin replied flatly, sitting up in bed to begin raking through the tangles in her long white hair with her fingers.

                “To Chrom?” She asked, not trusting Robin’s sour expression.

                “To Frederick.

                “That’s even worse.”

                Robin made a grunt like noise in agreement, picking up her cloak from where she had folded it over a nearby chair and shrugging it on. “It’s supposed to make people trust me.” She explained. Lissa’s eyes went wide, then narrowed, as Robin summarized their conversation in the hall the previous night, the way Frederick’s demeanor made it feel like there was a wall of ice between them.

                “And you agreed to this?” Lissa tapped at her bottom lip with her finger, rethinking what she thought of her companion. Robin had appeared eager to prove herself, blunt enough to Frederick when he voiced his suspicions. She seemed the type to prove herself through honest means, and unless something had happened between the two when Chrom and Lissa had left them by the campfire two nights ago, the tactician and knight loathed each other.

                Robin twisted the ring on her finger in the beginning of a nervous habit. “I would do anything to belong here.” She sighed. “I know I can prove myself, and if this is what it takes for the kingdom to accept me, then I’ll wear this ring with pride.”

                “O-kay.” Lissa nodded, not wanting to prod the tactician further on a matter she was already visibly wrestling with. She attempted to brighten, flashing a wide smile and grabbing Robin by the arm, leading them to the door of her chambers. “You know, I always said the day Frederick found a suitable partner would mark the end of the world. There can’t be another person as stubborn as him on the planet.”

                “Good thing this is all for show, then.” She replied, pulling the door open only to find Frederick on the opposite side, just as she had the night before. He regarded her coldly, as if he had been listening in on the conversation between her and Lissa.

                He bid a warm enough good morning to Lissa before clearing his throat and addressing Robin. “Chrom sent me to find you. Phila has been alerted to Plegia troops nearing our borders. We have all Shepherds gathered, bar yourself. It is essential we make a swift decision in these matters.”

                Now fully awake, Robin nodded, alertness prompted by the threat presented. Although Lissa was less convinced. “What about breakfast?” She protested, pouting.

                “If you wish milady, you may continue to the dining hall. We will join you once the meeting ends.” He really would do anything for the prince and princess of Ylisse, Robin thought. He would probably have carried her to the dining hall if she’d asked.

                “I’ll snag you something good.” Lissa patted Robin on the arm before bounding down the corridor in the direction of the dining hall.

                 She silently cursed the princess for leaving her alone with Frederick, who was now looking at her expectantly. Proffering his arm to her, which she took with some reluctance, he said, “Shall we go?”

 

Robin stood in the corner of the board room, Frederick at her side, hoping to draw as little attention to herself as possible. Through the pounding in her ears she attempted to focus on Chrom and Phila as they spoke of at least a dozen troops making their way towards Ylisse. There were rumors that the Mad King Gangrel was among them.

                A map was tacked on to the wall, highlighting possible routes they may take to intercept the Plegians. Mentally, Robin crossed out five of them at once, forgetting all present embarrassments in favor of judging the situation at hand and measuring all possible outcomes. Several possibilities were proffered, discussed, discarded, as the sun rose further in the sky and Stahl’s stomach growling could be heard above the dissatisfied grumbling of the room.

                Nearly half an hour had been passed before Robin’s assistance was called for.

                “What do you think, Robin?” Miriel asked, turning the group’s attention to herself. All eyes were on her, looking at her with expectation, as if all the answers they sought, she had.

                Resisting the urge to duck her head and avoid the line of questioning, she held her head high and drew a path along the map as she spoke. “We need to avoid heading to their stations at the northern border. The valleys will make it too easy for them to surround us. We’ll have to move faster to make up for the distance, but if we travel along the river we can reach them from behind. It will give us the advantage of surprising them, and we can strengthen our defense on the journey. We don’t know what they want yet, so we should come up with more than one response to any possible attacks they might attempt to wage.”

                “Is everyone in agreement with this plan?” Chrom asked, looking among the Shepherds. Not one shake of the head was passed among them, Robin noticed, relief slamming into her like a dead weight. “Good. Then we begin our march on the morrow.” Chrom’s fist landed on the table, ending the meeting with a resounding authority that made her jump a bit in her boots. With that, the table scattered for breakfast, casting friendly grins and waves among each other as they passed, Robin included with them.

                She remained, though, still with shock, marveling over how a rock on her finger could change a person’s perspective entirely. Alone, particularly alone in a field, she was powerless, and without equals. Now, simply standing next to Frederick changed that. Because he had chosen her to marry, so they thought, that somehow had made her fit to raise an army. The power of his judgement astounded her, and suddenly the weight of the knight’s reputation collapsed on her shoulders. Her mistakes would become his, and he did not seem the type to need correcting. She had to be aware that any misstep on her part could ruin him.

                Married life presented a unique challenge, more like a gamble, inexplicably linking two people together on the grounds of chemical attraction. Lacking that mutual magnetism, this new bound life seemed more like a battle. Precarious and enduring, she could only appeal to Naga that her body and heart would make it out unscathed.

               It seemed hardly fair, but it’s what she wanted, wasn’t it?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3 will be up next Sunday!


	3. Blush and Shadow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Questions rise, and none of the answers are good.

The Shepherds march began at dawn, shadows stretching across open fields, an open air of confidence among the troops. The cavalry had been collected, weapons sharpened, and they all seemed to be expecting triumph by the week’s end.

                At the same time, Robin’s popularity had not only grown, but capsized. She had quickly learned what the other Shepherds knew of Frederick, which was next to nothing. He was the silent warrior, unlikely to share anything about himself. He stuck to Chrom and Lissa like glue, reluctant to mingle with the other soldiers unless to point out an improper weapon stance or assign a duty around camp. They didn’t dislike him, though they teased him endlessly for his strict manner. Their questions for Robin weren’t patronizing, simply curious. Needless to say the woman who picked Frederick’s frozen heart would warrant some attention.

                “Is he passionate?” Sully asked her, raising an eyebrow suggestively. Sumia blushed, and Lissa rolled her eyes. The young princess had been following a short distance behind the gaggle of women as they headed into the clearing where they would make camp for the night, nodding along and smiling when a glance was passed her way, but ultimately uninvolved. Knowing the falsehood of the relationship, she found it difficult to take part in the gossip.

                “He’s passionate about some things,” Robin replied slowly, adjusting her face and tone to all the lies she’d have to procure to sate their interest. “Protecting Prince Chrom, for example.”

                Sully rolled her eyes, unsatisfied. “Tell us something about him that no one else knows.” The previously silent Sumia piped up, readjusting her skirts after nearly tripping over a stray branch.

                Robin’s nose scrunched up in thought. This was going to be harder than she first imagined it would be. “Uh, he hates bear meat?” She offered, remembering the face he had pulled during their first meal together.

                “Come on, Robin!” Sully groaned, playfully -albeit forcefully- socking her in the shoulder. She heard her name called behind her, and turned to see Frederick waving her over from across the clearing to the small circle of tents the men had assembled.

                “I’ll talk to you guys later!” Robin called over her shoulder, breaking into a sprint to meet the knight on the opposite side of camp. She could have sworn she saw Lissa’s eyes narrowing at her with a slight of disapproval. It must have been some trick of the light, she reasoned.

                She smiled up at Frederick upon catching up to him, offering a friendly wave. He bowed his head to her in return. “It looked like you could use an exit pass.” He said, holding the tent flap open for her to duck beneath.

                “You have no idea. Thanks for saving me.” She said sheepishly, though he was no longer looking at her.

                “No problem. Now you can assist me with inventory.” He dismissed, waving his hand to the action. Her small grin dipped into a frown. She should have known his reason for calling her over was more practical than cordial. Nevertheless she followed him deeper into the supply tent. He handed her a roll of paper and a quill, addressed her to take stock of the rations they have brought with them. They had had less than a day to plan for the march, and stock had been made and taken in haste. Their food supply would have to be measured and controlled throughout the next two days, as stopping at a nearby village would take them further west, off course.

                Robin took the pen and paper with some surprise, mild annoyance, though she nonetheless complied. Turning her back to him, she set to work, allowing some minutes of silent work to pass before she ventured to speak. “They want to know all about you, you know.” She had momentarily debated bringing this up to him, but decided she should be due to mention it, if for no other reason than to fill the uncomfortable silence between them. “It’s almost as if you’re the stranger in camp.”

                Frederick snorted, the closest she had ever heard of a laugh from him. “En route to fight Plegian soldiers and all they’re interested in is gossip. And over me, none the less. Although, I can’t say that the male party have been any less . . . inquiring. Vaike had asked me if you have been ‘putting out.’ I wasn’t sure what he meant, so I said yes.” Robin sputtered at him incredulously, though he didn’t seem to pick up on her shock. It might be best if she let that one slip, spare herself from having to explain the implication of the words herself.

                “Hey, how did we meet?” She asked, to offer a change in subject.

                “Chrom, Lissa, and I were patrolling the area when we found you unconscious in a field. You didn’t know your own name. Have you forgotten that already? It was several days ago.” His glance at her seemed more annoyed than worried at her apparent resurgence of memory loss.

                “I _meant-”_ She said, rolling her eyes. “how did we meet in this alternate universe where you managed to win my hand. I’m sure it will be asked, so I thought we should make sure we’re telling the same story.”

                “Understandable.” He replied with only half interest, his back still to her as he took a quick record of the number of tent rolls. “How about, a trio of brigands were advancing upon you in town, and I leapt to your rescue, not only saving your life but winning your heart in the process?”

                “I would rather not be a damsel in distress, thanks.”

                “Well, Lady Emmeryn suggested something simple. Bumping into each other in town while I was running errands for the palace, I believe.”

                “Simple’s good.” She agreed, jotting down the numbers she had taken from her count and dividing them among the camp’s numbers. They had enough food to last them more days than the march would require, thankfully. They wouldn’t have to stop on the way back to the palace to restock, either. Frederick seemed pleased with this, offering his barest of thanks.

                “We should begin setting up tents for the evening.” He took a small piles of tent roll from the pile he had just counted, holding them out for her to take. “Here are yours, mine, Lissa’s, and Chrom’s, to be delivered at entrance of the clearing. I’ve assigned the prince and princess to assist with the task; they’ll be waiting for you there.”

                She accepted the load, then did a quick count of the tent rolls. Four. “Won’t it look strange that we’re not sharing a tent?”

                He regarded her incredulously for a moment, eyebrows drawn. “If anyone has the gall to ask, you can tell them we’re waiting until after we’ve had a proper wedding to consummate the marriage.”

              She raised an eyebrow. “And are we going to do that? Consummate the marriage?”

              In shock, he dropped the rolls of tents in his arms, one wooden poll falling hard on his toes, the rest sprawling across the packed dirt, Robin jumped on a nearby crate to avoid them. He winced at the sharp clang the wooden had made across the steel of his armor, but was otherwise unharmed. He turned to Robin with a severe glare, his eyes narrowed to slits before he stooped the gather the supplies in his arms. “As soon as this cursed war is over I’d sooner have the marriage annulled.” He spat. “We shouldn’t even speak of the union as if it’s anything more than a sham when it’s just the two of us.”

              Robin stepped down from the crate, her heart sinking at his reprimands. It was meant to be a joke to ease some of the tension between them, but his harshness had stamped out an air of humor between them. “It was a-” She began, not knowing he wasn’t finished chiding her.

           “What is it that you were thinking? That once you reach top of the ranks among us, we would extend our matrimony to the end of our days?” She stepped over a stray pole that had reached her feet, not offering her help, not thinking he would want it.

           “I wasn’t being serious.” She mumbled, feeling much like a child being reprimanded for doing something she knew was forbidden.

            Frederick straightened, eyeing her pensively. His hand landed on her shoulder, snapping her eyes back to his. “Grow up, Robin. This is war, not playtime.” With that, his hand dropped and he pushed past her with his bundle of tents tucked beneath his arm. Robin was alone, and grateful for it. A blush crept further at her neck as she turned away from the entrance of the tent, to the pile of supplies she was meant to deliver. She should have focused on his word, not his hand on her shoulder.

          Slamming her fist down on the top of a crate, an embarrassed hiccup, followed by a sob, rose in her throat. She covered her flaming face with her hands, resting her forehead against the top of the crate as her shoulders trembled lightly. She was almost certain that if she had the opportunity to never see Frederick’s face again, she would take it in a heartbeat.

 

Rain splintered the night sky, an on and off patter on the roof of Robin’s tent as she tossed and turned on her cot and counted enough sheep to replace every weapon in their convoy. Morning came too soon, still until the light, nearly sheer cover of rain clouds, enough to dampen their campfire but not obliterate it. Breakfast consisted of meal, not warm enough, and pleasant enough chatter than Robin found reluctance to participate in. By the time the Shepherds were prepared to set out, they had picked up enough on Robin’s sour mood to know to leave her alone.

                She had nearly thrown her bowl into the sputtering fire when Chrom commented on Frederick’s absence that morning. Not that she wasn’t grateful for it, but his name spoken aloud had been enough to raise her ire.

                Her frustration came close to bubbling over all through the day’s hike. She needed to talk to Chrom, alone. She needed to tell him she couldn’t do this, pretend to be with Frederick. But of course, as the leader, he was scarcely alone. The nearest he came to being by himself was when only Frederick was at his side, and though she knew he would be loath to object to her protests of their pretense, she would rather he weren’t involved.

               The rain had picked up, inciting a downpour, and from beneath her hood, Robin could only suspect that things were about to get worse.

              A troop of wyvern scouts had been sent ahead to report the Plegian’s progress along the Ylisse borders. Their reports were troubling, causing Chrom to swear in frustration, Frederick grind his lance into the dirt. They had successfully crossed into the border, heading straight for Ylisstol, for Emmeryn. It seemed the Shepherd’s route to cut them off before they could enter the holy halidom had turned on itself; they would be better off doubling back to the capital over favoring a surprise attack. As soon as this was realized, the Shepherds were immediately redirected, heading at twice the speed over the paths they had crossed just a day before.

             Robin kept towards the back of the marching party, fearing she would be to blame for their fruitless mission, though the focus of the others was fully directed on protecting the Exalt, not dealing out punishments. She wanted dearly to speak with Chrom, to discuss how they would proceed once returning to the capital, to curse him infinitely for allowing Frederick to pose as her husband.

             Upon returning to the palace, however, her personal worries became quickly diverged. The reappearence of a masked soothsayer named Marth had alerted them to the dangers on their horizon. It had been suggested that Emmeryn relocate to one of the eastern palaces until the threats against her life dispersed. It may have been foolish to believe they were safe anywhere, Robin realized, as the hooves of wyvern’s and their coldblooded riders moved the surround them.

              Chrom had left Marth to guard Emmeryn in one of the palace’s far room while the Shepherds moved forward, catching the ambush head on. Pairs divided and were set forth. Robin started to side with Chrom, until Frederick caught her elbow. “Stay by me.” He intoned, guiding her without touching her further to stand at his side. Truthfully, he wasn’t sure that she was not behind this whole plot, directing the incoming band of rogues right to the Exalt. Lest she slip away in the heat of battle to join her comrades, he wouldn't take an eye off of her.

             As a pair, their battle strategy more resembled a game of tug-of-war. Frederick had to draw enemies to him as he backed closer to Robin, whose magic casting had her propelled back and forth from each new target. If she truly was part of this raid, he thought, she seemed to have no trouble dispatching her cohorts.

            “Why are you still following me? I know what I’m doing.” She called to him over her shoulder, exasperated, snapping her tome shut as the last enemy in sight had fallen.

            “Forgive me if I don’t exactly trust your judgement. You’ve only had a week’s practice with it, after all.”

             She started at his harsh comment, made with such cool indifference. He hadn’t said it to enrage her, as he had. It was a dismissive truth, spoken so easily as if it must be universally accepted. Robin had believed she would have to win over the other Shepherds and tolerate Frederick, though she was realizing with a pang that the actual events would seem to be reversed.

            Before she could think better of it, she grabbed a small stone from the ground and launched it at the back of Frederick’s armor. “Why are you so eager to loath me?” She yelled, stooping to swipe another stone.

           “Why are you so eager to damage my armor?” He replied coolly, crossing his arms. One dent from the pole he had dropped in the haste of her suggestive comment, and another from the stone she had just cast.

           “I could care less about your armor.” She scoffed. “In fact, I-”

            A voice, speaking from the shadows, silenced her.

            “Please, cease this ridiculous bickering, the two of you.” From the shadows of the courtyard’s archway, Robin squinted to see a slim, lofty form, nearly invisible in the night.

            “And who might you be?” Frederick called to the figure emerging from the shadows, swiftly drawing his lance. “Reveal yourself!”

            “You may call me Validar.” A man said, titling his chin back to engulf them fully in his air of superiority. He stood a good foot taller than Frederick, towering, like the pillars in Frederick’s throne room. His beard curled around his jaw, like the edges of his smile, malicious, as was the gleam in his dark eyes. This pose faltered for a moment when he first set eyes on Robin, drinking in her features like one would a glass of fine wine.

                “I . . . know you,” He hissed, taking a step near her. She held out her hand, sparks fizzing from her fingertips, her other hand holding her tome to her chest in a white knuckle grip. If he came any closer, one step closer, she would cast him back to the depths he came from.

                “You don’t know me.” Her voice splintered, letting the screen down on her vulnerability.

                His laugh sounded like thunder. He threw his head back and let it echo in the courtyard. Frederick’s hand tightened around his lance, his eyes darting between the laughing man and the trembling tactician, measuring truths. Validar’s grin split his face in half, as he narrowed his eyes in humor at her apparent fear. She’d have to work on hiding it. “Robin . . .” He intoned, almost sympathetically. It was enough to make her snap.

                A burst of yellow light shot from Robin’s hand. A spiral aimed at his chest, hit his stomach as her shaking hand had misdirected her aim. Validar doubled over, clutching his side, glaring up at her with an obsidian hatred. “Soon enough, you’ll learn. He spat at her feet, a promise, gasped, before a plume of purple smoke engulfed the courtyard, spreading blindness.

                Coughing, blinking away the acrid atmosphere, Robin rose to her feet, though the stranger wasn’t anywhere.


	4. Whispered War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A slightly longer chapter this week to compensate for next week's slightly shorter chapter in which tensions with Plegia reach their boiling point.

Dinner than night seemed a tireless affair.

                Robin had been spared from having to converse with Frederick by the Shepherd’s newest recruit, Donnel, who wanted to learn all he could about combat from the great knight. Chrom sat at the head of the table, attended on all sides by Vaike’s concern of the number of axes in the convoy, Miriel’s inquiry of what he thought the scientific base of the mark of the Exalt was, and Stahl pointing to the slices of meat on his plate, asking if he was going to finish them.

                Robin finished eating early, having no one to talk to, other than the occasional passing comment made after she asked someone to pass the potatoes or the carrots. Frederick’s voice raised in his conversation with Donnel, drawing her attention back to it. He was speaking of how he much preferred spears over tomes, as magic was unreliable at best, where lances were much more well founded. Unbiddenly, their conversation in the palace courtyard from the previous night sprang to her mind, after Validar had disappeared, leaving the two surrounded by a clearing purple fog.

                _“You can’t tell anyone about this.”_ Her eyes were still streaming, clearing tracks down her face from the grime of the battle.

                Frederick was scanning the area, expecting Validar or his reinforcements to return at any moment. He paused that, though, to shoot Robin a dirty, angry look. _“You expect me to lie to Chrom? For_ you?”

                She winced, squeezing her eyes shut at another onslaught of tears. _“Please,”_ She said, and it may have been the first time she’d spoken it to him. _“Please, don’t tell anyone.”_ Frederick stiffened, though something in the way he was regarding her changed.

                _“For now, as it seems his interest was in you and not Lady Emmeryn, I will keep this information to myself. Chrom has enough to worry about, after all. We all do.”_ With that, he had procured a handkerchief, offered it to her, and left without another word. Robin stood there, dabbing at her eyes with the bit of cloth, comparing his icy tone to the warm action. After some minutes thought, she tucked the handkerchief into a pocket of her cloak and ran to catch up with the others. Emmeryn's life had been saved, but something more wicked had caught on to Robin, with the intention to stick. 

 

It was a lucky thing Stahl had done something to raise Frederick's ire, placing him on kitchen duty instead of Robin. It gave her the time to search from Chrom, who she had wanted to find alone for the past week to discuss a certain knight and the pretenses they shared. She was breathless from searching the palace until at last she found the blue haired prince in the palace courtyard, empty spare for the two of them. “Chrom, may I speak with you?” She asked once she caught her breath. He nodded without turning to her, looking out over the small pond in the center of the courtyard, which a light fog rolled over.

                She cleared her throat, twisting the fabric of her cloak in between her hands. She pointedly stared at the mark of the Exalt on his bicep, unable to meet his eye.  “It’s about Frederick. He-” _Lied to you to protect my interests._ “He and I cannot stand each other. The proposition that we should pretend to be a couple was outlandish and set to fail from the start, I believe. It doesn’t seem worth what weren’t all doing this for- reputation.” She leaned against a pillar, folding her arms, now talking more to herself than the prince who was regarding her with a sad interest. “Though the worst part about it is that it’s worked. I am now one of the Shepherds, and I wouldn’t expect any push back from the Ylissean people to accept my position as a leader. But I’ve only achieved this through lying, Chrom. I can’t find comfort in that falsehood. I swore I was telling you the truth when we met in that field, and it feels wrong to immediately cover all of that up with a lie.”

                He nodded slowly, his shoulders sinking a bit. “I agree it is unfair of me to ask full transparency from you under the film of a role I ask you to play in front of our comrades. Lissa is the only one who knows the truth, correct?” Robin nodded, feeling another guilty pang twist in her gut. She wasn’t blind to the looks the princess narrowed on her when she thought she wasn’t looking, the judgement. When Robin had first told her of the arrangement, Lissa was amused. It was like a game, playing husband and wife. But games grow old after a while, and she didn’t like lying to her friends.

                _“It's great that Frederick's finally found someone, isn't it? He and Robin must be_ so _happy together.”_

Pulling her to the side at the week’s end, _“Robin, how long is this going to play out exactly?”_

“Chrom, how much longer is this going to go on?”

                He sighed, brushing his azure locks from his forehead. “If these matters with the Plegian’s escalate any further, we may have a full out war on our hands. The people of Ylisse will turn to the Shepherds for guidance. If they find out the person leading their soldiers is a person with a memory spanning no longer than a week, with no identity to speak of, there will be unrest. I’m sorry, Robin, but I need you to stick with this. It may be a cheap disguise, but it’s the best we can do right now.”

                Robin opened her mouth to protest, the closed it. Was she being selfish? It seemed hardly the time to concern herself over her personal state when there was a threat lying heavy of the halidom. She dipped her head and murmured an apology, which Chrom absently accepted. It was clear his mind was elsewhere. “You seem preoccupied.” She offered, to change the subject.

                “I’ve been thinking about Marth. He . . . she, seems so familiar to me, despite being a stranger. It’s unnerving.”

                “There is no way to know what the future holds.” She replied, shaking her head. Marth’s prophecies baffled her. The demeanor of her, the way she ghosted in and out of their acquaintance as if she had no real ties to anywhere, anyone. She waltzed around their predicaments until she thought they might benefit from a piece of advice encrypted in a voice that spoke like a riddle, leaving before they could thank her. And there was something about Chrom’s interest that Robin didn’t like, though couldn’t place why. Nonetheless, she resolved not to offer anymore word on the stranger.

                “I’ll leave you to your thoughts.” She turned to leave him, though his hand shot out and grabbed hers. He turned her hand over in his own, leaving her with final, fleeting words.

                “I care about your comfort, Robin. I’m the one who told you there were better places to take a nap then on the ground, remember?” The ghost of a smile touched his lips. “Could you say that you’re just returning the favor?”

                She squeezed his hand once before withdrawing from his grip. “Of course.”

 

After she left the courtyard, Robin spent some time in the training barracks, empty at this time of night, blasting straw filled dummies with her wind magic until they burst. She tested the weight of a few swords, picked up a bow and arrow before she thought better of it, some time later returning to her chambers, warm and invigorated.

                The guest wing of the palace was set away from where the other Shepherds slept, so she wasn’t surprised that she did not encounter anyone in the halls, if there was anyone still awake. Chrom may still be in the courtyard, though she couldn’t think of much more to say to him.

                She slowed as she caught sight of a shadow lingering in the hall of her chamber, her footsteps slowing, heart picking up speed. It calmed when she drew nearer and recognized the shadow’s cowlick, the tall, tense, stance. It was Frederick, standing outside her chamber door as if he had been posted sentry there. “What are you doing here?” She asked, more curious than angry, more tired than anything that might have her annoyed. She crossed her arms and leaned against the corridor wall, raising a brow at him. He cleared his throat, picking up then casting away the idea of telling her he and just been in the area, and truly had nothing to say to her.

                “I must apologize for my comment on your judgement. You’ve done nothing to lead us astray thus far. I was misguided. Will you accept my apology?” His eyes slid to hers occasionally as he spoke, gauging her reaction, though he was mostly focused on the flagstones.

                “Did Chrom speak with you?” He bristled at this, not expecting his words to be so transparent to her.

                “Yes, he spoke to me.” He said, partially harsh, “But my words are no less true. I wished to apologize to you, but were unsure if you would accept it.”

                She sighed, running a hand through her white hair. She wished she had bathed before returning to her chamber; she might have been able to avoid him then, and not have to face him with sweat drying on her temples. “Look, Frederick. You said the woman you chose to marry would deserve the utmost respect. I know you didn’t chose me, but could you respect me? Could we do that for each other?”

                “That would be best.” He agreed, deflecting the accusatory tone she had addressed him with. She assumed that was all, but, after sliding another quick glance to her, he cleared his throat, his armored plates sliding against one another as he shifted against the wall. His eyes took on a glassy, far away tint as he again addressed the flagstones, telling them something he had never spoken aloud before, after a minute’s pause in which Robin had been studying his features to think of things to say if Sumia asked her again what she liked the most of Frederick’s physique.

                “On the night I gave you that ring, I told you that a woman would have to have the assertion like I, and a strength to match my own. She would be lucky to have me. Though I must confess that this simply isn’t true.

                “I would be lucky to have her. Because no amount of goddess icons adorning my lance will place me in a world where any female sees me as anything more than Chrom’s lapdog. Do not misunderstand, it is my life’s duty to serve him, but I feel I have little left of me outside that role.”

                She thought for a moment before saying anything else. She thought he may leave after that, having said too much. A blush had already risen to his cheeks, faint but there. “You’ve never told anyone this?” She titled her head to the side, leveling her eyes with his. He was clearly uncomfortable but very much in charge of the situation. He wasn’t acting on an order from Chrom any longer.

                “No.” He shook his head.

                Before she could bite her tongue, Robin found herself asking, “Why tell me?”

                Though he didn’t seem surprised, nodding to her question as he had been expecting it. “You have an ingrained need to understand things. Battle fields, enemies, people. I told you because I knew you would listen, and you may understand.”

                “I do.” She breathed, daring to take a step closer to him. “I see the pains you must take to protect others. I’m trying to do the same thing.”

                “You say that as a spouse?” He whispered back, refusing to meet her eye again.

                “As a friend.” It may have been presumptuous to say, but it felt right to he extend the courtesy all the same.  He bowed his head to her words, paused for a moment, then held out his hand as if to take her own. Extending her own hesitance to only the same extent of time as his, she slid her palm over his. His lips touched her hand, ghosting over the purple mark on her skin. A polite, if not courtly gesture, as if to cement their now being on unhostile terms.

                “Thank you, Frederick. Sleep well,” She breathed, retreating into her room, shutting the door firm before sinking against it, sliding to the stone floor.

                The ring on her hand didn’t feel quite so heavy anymore.

* * *

 It seemed unknowable but certain to Robin, when she woke late the next morn, that something was gravely wrong. The air seemed more still, somehow, like the morning was holding its breath.

                She heard footsteps racing down the hall, snapping her in a second to alertness. She grabbed her tome from her bedside table, and in an unconscious moment of insecurity, grabbed her robes to cover her nearly nude form.

               She had been expecting Plegian offender, a rogue or a raider, someone with the intent to harm her. She was not expecting, with her hand outstretched and sparking with frantic magic, Frederick. He was dressed in full armor, and bound into her room without knocking. She lowered her hand, intending to snap at him for being so abrupt, before she realized he was bleeding. Crimson trickled down his jaw, sliding down the smooth metal of his breastplate from a gash on his cheek, surrounded by a cloud of purple.  

                “We need you,” He panted, falling against the doorframe. Robin, forgetting she was dressed in her smallclothes, dropped her hand and the tome covering her chest. She looked agape at the knight, who rushed, breathless, to explain the events he had yet to recover from.

Plegian’s had arrived by Wyvren soon before midnight, flying silently above the low hanging clouds to avoid being sighted by the sentries stationed outside the palace. Even with the increase of guards to ward off Marth’s prophecies, the sheer number of riders, sweeping into the palace at once, were not enough in numbers to stop them. The Shepherds were soon alerted, grabbed their spears from their bedsides, and left to the defense. And Robin, tucked away in her isolated chamber and the aid of a sleeping draft, had not woken to it.

It was a hard fought war, but the Plegian’s sheer force in numbers had been too much for what the castle’s convoy could hold. And they had not left without claiming their reward. Several attendants were stricken down from their post outside the Exalt’s chambers. In a wave of shattered glass and deflected spears, the Exalt had been taken from between her bedsheets, all before the break of dawn. Robin’s heart sank to her toes, freezing on its way.

                Emmeryn was gone.

                That meant war.

                 

To Robin’s surprise, the war began quietly.

                The shift of armor, the occasional sigh. The beating of the wyvern’s wings, steady, like a heartbeat. It was all very uncomfortable. War wasn’t supposed to begin with a whisper.

                The silence carried as the Shepherd’s marched to where they were instructed, byway of a scrap of paper, struck through the center by an arrow through the tapestry above Emmeryn’s bed. In exchange for the Fire Emblem, the relic of the goddess Naga, the Exalt’s life may be spared. Gangrel, the Mad King of Plegia, was open to negotiations.

                It was Lissa who had first spotted her, being marched up the cliff like a traitorous seafarer about to walk a plank overboard. The young princess had broken into a sprint, as if she could catch her sister despite her being hundreds of feet above her own head, until Robin caught her around the waist and held her trembling frame to her. Lest her royal blood add her to the pile of bargaining chips Plegia seemed intent on collecting.

                Emmeryn’s appearance had signaled the beginning of negations, breaking the silence above its knee, as a wave of sand passed above the Shepherds heads and Gangrel appeared, followed at the feel by his inferior Aversa, as well as several soldiers and Risen alike. “You’ve all been made away of the conditions of this trade, correct? The Fire Emblem for the Exalt’s life. Seems fair enough, no?”

                He was addressing Chrom, who stood defiantly at the front of the rows of Ylissean soldiers, Robin at his elbow. Sand whirled in their faces, but they refused to shrink away from it, from him.

                “Come on!” Gangrel growled, pitching forward with an insane fury, a passionate heat that blazed in his golden eyes. He wanted to see the bloodshed for himself, he wanted to _breathe_ it. “Give me the Fire Emblem, or your precious Emmeryn _dies.”_

                Chrom was visibly writhing on the inside. His eyes were wide as sweat slipped down his brow. He was fixed on Emmeryn’s figure on the mountain cliff, his hand insentiently tensing around his cape, where hidden beneath was the relic of Gangrel’s desire.

                “Make your choice, Prince!” He shrieked, waving the Levin sword above his head like a baton.

                “I-I can’t-” He gasped, shaking his head.

                Robin grasped his hand with her own, urging him to stay still, stay grounded. “We’ll find another way, Chrom. I swear it.” He looked at her with some cognizance, remembering that he did that he did have a choice, a chance, to fight.

                “You won’t have it, Gangrel.” He addressed the king, who pouted as though he had been hoping the matter to go more smoothly. “You won’t have Emmeryn, either. This ends here, it ends now.”

                “I’ll have both,” He growled, teeth bared, “mounted above my fireplace! Archers! If the prince’s hand so much as twitches to draw his sword, fire immediately. Same goes for the tactician. Same goes for all of them!”

                Robin gritted her teeth, her eyes sliding to Emmeryn on the cliff. She was a mere branch of a figure, as far high as she was. Her eye’s couldn’t have met Robin’s, couldn’t have conveyed any silent message. Yet, somehow, the tactician _knew_ what she was about to do before the Exalt took that first step forward. And another.

                She was falling.

                And it was felt that as Emmeryn impacted the stone stairs with a resounding blow, the hearts of Ylisse’s soldiers, as well as some Plegian’s, shattered in the same moment. A wail sounded, an echo that shook the sands. Chrom’s despair reverberation in the dusty air. _“Oh, gods, Emmeryn.”_

Lifeless eyes looked up at him as blood began to swarm her pupils. He had ran so fast to catch her, now could only look so brokenly at her, at her eyes. It would take him years to realize they were smiling.


	5. In the Wake Of

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arrangements are made in the camp. Robin removes a part of her armor to Frederick.

Two weeks had elapsed since Emmeryn’s sacrifice, since that bloody battle in the rain.

                It had taken some time to regroup, both in reparations and emotion, before the Shepherds were set to fight back against the Mad King. After their narrow escape with the aid of the former Regna Ferox kahn Basilio, they had been lying low, inactivate save for the occasional intervention in a village dispute.

                Their numbers had grown at a considerable rate. Supplies and rations were not as easily controlled as they had once been. Where there had been more than enough, now remained just enough to get by. They had little time to go on bounties to collect funds or appeal to allied regions, than it was to exercise some reductions.

                Chrom, not yet crowned Exalt, stood at the side of Anna, a merchant who had recently joined the Shepherds to pay back their efforts to save her life and her sister’s. Her expertise in mercantile trade and managing stock had made her the perfect person to oversee their convoy. The discount they got at any of her sister’s shops was an added bonus.

                “Okay, we’re going to have to start doubling up on tents.” She called out to the assembled group of Shepherds, reading over Chrom’s shoulder on the inventory sheets he held in his hands. “Let’s see, Lissa can go with Maribelle, Vaike with Stahl, Frederick with Robin, obviously-” The list continued, though the words were closer to static in the ears of a certain tactician and knight.

                Robin and Frederick had been standing side by side, boredly to the list of changes around camp. Less bullion in the bank, for Frederick, meant more bear meat, although with Robin’s help in the past weeks the idea had become less reproachable. Though the thought of dinner was the furthest thing on his mind after hearing the merchant’s words.

                “Why did she say obviously?” He hissed in Robin’s ear, looking around them with suspicion.

                “Because we’re married, obviously.” She scoffed, moving past him to collect her- _their -_ tent roll. Even after the months that had passed, it still sounded strange in her mind to think of them in that united sense. Yet, there they would be sharing a tent, sharing a bond built on bedrock, as any eye were meant to see it. If anyone in the camp were to ask her why her heart was pounding, why Frederick was scowling, there would be no truthful answer to give.

                Recently, she had begun to feel . . . different around him. Different when their hands touched when they moved to point out something on a map at the same time. Different when where fighting side by side in battle, protecting each other. Different when she was alone, thinking about the conversation they had at supper, when he had laid his hand on her shoulder and whispered something about a previous or upcoming battle in her ear.

                Had he noticed that change? Had Chrom? Maybe she was reading too much into it. They were at ease with each other in the way that there were greater things on their minds, and the presence of the other was often of little notice. In assisting Chrom with battle strategy, the often stood side by side, shoulders occasionally grazing, as they patiently laid out the plans. It was a relief they nearly always agreed with each other, though in the times they didn’t Chrom was quick to levy the gap. The prince often served as their common ground and moot point in arguments.

                The pair worked silently to assemble their tent in the clearing, both feeling it unsafe to speak aloud while all the other Shepherds worked around them. Robin had caught Lissa’s eye from across the clearing as Lon’qu assembled her tent for her, though the princess had looked away so quickly before Robin could guess what she was feeling. She prayed that Frederick didn’t notice her hands were shaking as drove stakes into the ground around the corners of the tent, missing her target several times. Of course he did, though he didn’t comment on it.

                Inside the canvas Frederick swiftly assembled their cot while Robin slowly unpacked her tomes from her bag, feeling the air grow warmer as an unspeakable tension rose between them. She thought at last he may speak when he drew from his bag a ball of twine, hooked one end to a loop at the entrance of the tent before walking it to the opposite end, making a division that splint the area in half as Robin watched incredulously. “This will divide our shared quarters into our own space.” He explained. “I will not interfere on your side, so long as it presents no hazard, and I ask you do the same with mine. As for sharing the cot, I’m a light sleeper and don’t move much. Are these terms agreeable to you?” He didn't look at her as he spoke.

                Her mouth went dry. The shock of the idea of sharing a bed with him was enough to make her head spin, and she had just been thrown for another loop, quite unforgivingly. “I appreciate your practicality.” She said at last, offering a weak smile before ducking out of the tent. It seemed not enough space to breathe. She needed air.

                She made a beeline for Lissa’s tent, nearly ramming into the silent myrmidon who was exiting the tent at the same time. He grumbled something under his breath, but made no other move to scold her.

                Lissa was lying on her cot, scribbling with a quill in the diary Robin knew she kept hidden in her pillow case. “What am I going to do?” The tactician breathed, pushing her hair out of her face, sinking down onto the cot opposite the princess’s.

                Lissa slid her journal out of sight and rose to recline on her elbows, looking at her friend’s apparent distress with a smidge of disbelief.

                That change between them . . . Lissa had seen it. She had known Frederick her entire life. He had been her first friend, her first crush. She could read him better than any book she'd be reluctant to read. It may have been some girlish, infantile hope, that the feelings of her first crush would someday be returned. Though that hope was sinking fast, thanks to the weight of the tactician in their lives. Perhaps she was more a child than she knew, and those past feelings hadn’t yet left her. She was beginning to notice her resentment towards Robin growing each day, out of bounds for her to stop it.

                “What are going to do?” She asked, drawing her knees to her chest. Robin had already grown restless sitting on Maribelle's cot, and had begun to pace back and forward. Was this not the exact scenario she had made a joke of weeks ago? Was it not the thought of this precise situation that made color rise in her cheeks? Maybe her excitement came from that she was not so much nervous for what the night would bring, but was anticipating it. There was that change, after all.

                To her question, Robin was silent. And it was like a switch had been flipped as Lissa’s mouth dipped into a grimace. “If I didn’t know better I’d say this is exactly what you wanted.” The princess said, her face reddening. She ducked her head and murmured and apology immediately after, though Robin was already backing towards the exit, a blank hurt in her eyes. She left feeling that she never should have sought of her friend’s word after all.

                She felt herself growing heavy with unpleasant thoughts as she left the princess’s tent. She faked a relationship with Frederick. Would she soon enough have to fake her friendship with Lissa? With Chrom? They had together crafted these lie to build her up, where, at the very top, she felt herself begin to fall.

 

Night had fallen. Fredrick had been absent at dinner, though Robin could only describe herself as feeling grateful for it. When she retreated to her tent after the meal, it was bliss to find herself alone.

                She fell back on the cot, _her_ side of the cot, and felt herself deflate a bit. She pulled the silver band off her finger and glared at its luminescence, chewing on her bottom lip as she mulled over its power. Was it the ring that had turned her mind? Made her crazy? For she couldn’t seem to distinguish the reality where Frederick was in fact not in love with her, and made to give her this ring as an order from Chrom, and one much the opposite. Though the knight liked to make it very much obvious, some strangled hope remained that it was possible he shared her feelings. _Her feelings._ She didn’t even know much of them herself. Though she felt their lurking presence, like a weight above her head, itching to drop.

                The tent flap opened, and Robin jammed the ring back on her finger as Frederick entered the tent, his hair damp from a bath. He had already changed into his nightclothes, and she wondered if he changed at the spring to avoid having to undress in front of her. “Hey,” She called softly to him, and he nodded to her in reply. They spoke of little else before he bid her goodnight, and they stiffened under the sheets, with eyes fast closed, as if they could forget they were lying next to anyone.

                Robin fell asleep faster than she intended, weary from the day’s hike and her thoughts wearing her thin. It was well into the night, closer to morning, when she was startled awake by movement next to her. She thought Frederick had woken, and groaned to herself as it must mean daylight must be nigh. Though after peeling her eyes open, she found him still lying beside her, though his position screamed of distress. His eyes were squeezed shut. He jerked, as if awake, before starting in the other direction. A peel of sweat slid down his face as his eyebrows drew together in consternation.

                Should she wake him from his nightmare? Was it her place? It would be violating the rule of the clear line of string that ran between them, but she couldn’t stand to lay there and watch him writhing as he was. Tentatively, she reached out and laid her hand on him arm.

                 He woke in an instant, making Robin jump as he sat up, spoke with no trace of sleep in his voice as he reached for the lance propped against the side wall of the tent. “Are we under attack?”

                “No, I- you were having a nightmare.” Frederick looked back at her, set his lance down and reclined back in the cot, pulling the thin blanket back over them. He had not once commented how little Robin slept in, whether because he didn’t want to provoke her or he simply didn’t notice. Though for the first time she noticed, his eyes seemed to linger on the curve of her chest, outlined by the tresses that hung limply around her face as she shifted her position to face him.

                “Do you want to talk about it?” She asked.

                “It’s nothing you haven’t seen.” He answered shortly. “I just keep thinking about that day, with Emmeryn . . . I could have changed the outcome, I think, if I had only moved fast enough."

                Robin shook her head against her pillow. “You’re starting to sound like Marth. I’ve looked at this from every angle; it’s not possible. It’s as she said, fate has a way of correcting itself, and it was not going to let us leave that dessert until it had. I regret that day, but I no longer blame myself for it.” She was surprised that he still did, which could have been what spurred her honesty.

                “You’re wrong. There must have been something I could have done.” He replied. She wanted to argue, even opened her mouth to do so, but she felt that would only serve to anger him. She wasn’t interested in picking a fight with him in the dead of night, anyway.

                “Do you think you’ll go back to sleep?” She pulled the blankets closer to her, feeling oddly vulnerable in a moment’s shift.

                He shook his head. “Nay. It’s soon time I rise for my morning rounds, anyway.”

                She nodded, bade him a soft goodnight, and rolled over with her back to him, and fought to fall asleep on her side of the line.

 

The following mornings and nights passed smoothly enough.

                Sharing a tent with him was, in a word, easy. He kept the space tidy with no expectation of her own contribution, choosing to ignore her entirely. He retired to bed only after he had made several rounds to secure the camp and rose as soon as dawn broke. He was vigilant to not touch her. She mostly had the cot to herself.

                And Robin, on her part, avoided him just the same. She had come to appreciate his precise schedule, as she had learned exactly when and where to avoid him. She would not spar while he was, wash her clothing in the banks when alongside him. At meals she spoke with whomever was on the opposite side of her. But all the while, she was watching him. He froze whenever the late Exalt’s name was spoken, wouldn’t eat afterwards, or seek out a chore that would take him the furthest distance from the camp as possible. For the first time, he seemed to be inexplicably effected a person, or, more likely, her death. Though he didn't have any more nightmares, that she noticed, it was clear he was still haunted.

                There was something about his reactions that made Robin only more eager to stand out of his way, until her personal conflictions became too great for her to ignore. She sought around camp, asking where anyone had seen him, though they had not.

                 She at last found him in their tent, the last place she had expected. Idle, he sat on the edge of the cot, elbows balanced on his knees, head hung in an impression of defeat. His suit was crumpled, hair disheveled, and he may not have slept for days. Had he been lying awake while she slept soundly, a breath’s distance away?

                “Could we talk?” She asked quietly, as if it were possible she could startle him.

                “You have a new strategy for moving forward?” Robin bit her lip. She did, and already had ran it past Chrom. It wasn’t what she had been looking for him for- simply relaying plans wouldn’t have taken days of building up courage, worrying her lips between her teeth until it bled. How simple their lives would be if all they had to talk about was the war.

              “No. I was thinking of our conversation, some nights ago. About Emmeryn. I was wondering if you could clarify something for me?” Her voice, trembling lightly, earned a raised eyebrow from him, but he nonetheless gestured she take a seat beside him, and continue.  

                It was as Frederick said before. She had an ingrained need to understand things, people most of all. And, it her understanding, a realization had struck her through the heart, and it was her intent to clarify the fact that had wounded her so.

                 “You loved her, didn’t you?” She breathed.

                He took some moments to reply, and finally did so in a tone of broken confession. They were lifeless words, useless now, unable to remedy anything. “Yes.”

                She didn’t know why that felt as bad as it did, like a punch to the gut. Frederick was in love with Emmeryn. It probably wouldn’t have mattered to her, a month ago. Her voice preceded thought; her heart speaking before her mind could strangle the words she knew she would only come to regret. “Do you think- do you think you could ever love me that way?”

                “I find it hard to think about love right now.” He replied. She knew he wasn’t trying to sound harsh on her, so she didn’t find his statement as crushing as she could have. He wasn’t cruel. He was tired.

                “I know what you mean.” She lied.

 He raised his head enough to cast a sidelong glance at her, holding her with a measure he had not bothered to previously. Maybe he could sense her longing for what she could never have. Maybe she was as lonely as he was. In any event, he steeled himself to be honest with her once again.

                “I am a knight above all else. I cannot allow myself to think of anything more than my duty to Ylisse. That is not to say that when this war is over, when Gangrel has been conquered, that I may not begin to think of my duty to you as your husband.” His eyes broke from hers, falling to his hands, which lay limply in his lap, looking powerless as ever. His armor rustled when he breathed a sigh, deflating himself some more. “I just need time, Robin.”

                It was not a confession of love, it was far from it, but Robin had learned to bundle her shortcomings and depart while she still had the chance to save face. She stood, returning to the entrance of the tent, pausing once before departing. She turned to the knight, hoping he might ask her to stay, look at her maybe, though he abided to none of these.

                Her heart cried out to him, but, in lacking the telepathy many couples share, he did not hear it.  


	6. Binding Ties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final battle with Gangrel.

Death had a way of making time slow, making a week seem like an unblinking hour. For the Shepherds, time had just begun to pick up again, clocks aligning and moroseness subsiding. One month had elapsed in which the they had chased off local bands of rogues and saved village maidens and spent nights huddled around the campfire, together but alone, nursing silent musings and battle strategies.

                Robin often sat with Frederick, and on a particularly cold night, as they were starting to come by more often, he would hold her close to warm her. The tactician didn’t think much of it; he’d do the same for Lissa. Though there were nights when she would fall asleep with her head in his lap. It was an absent habit of his to run his hand through his hair when he was nervous, a habit he took upon Robin when she was close enough. It seemed a sweet gesture, not a way to fidget when the other Shepherds hailed it so. Robin found it difficult to complain no matter his reasoning.

                Though there remained some tension in the wake of the void left by Emmeryn, morale had been considerably lightened in the past weeks. Reports of Plegian soldiers casting aside their weapons, chanting Emmeryn’s name as they abandoned the battlefield came flooding in. It granted a certain relief, and restored confidence within the Shepherds. Scouts had been sent out to uncover where Gangrel was hiding out, likely trying to haplessly gather together the remaining troops. When this was determined, the Shepherds would strike faster than they ever have before, and the Mad King would at last be defeated.

                Robin had been set to focus her thought and strength on this single task alone, had there not been several distractions nipping at her ankles as the weeks elapsed. Lissa had made several attempts of reconciliation to the tactician, who had accepted them each time, though apparently not with enough sincerity that the princess wouldn’t try again the next day. If Chrom had noticed the rift, he had yet to comment on it, which Robin was more than alright with. He was just becoming comfortable with the title of Exalt and the new load of responsibility the title bore. He was more invaluable to Ylisse than ever, and that was not a weight that came lightly. Robin had vowed to keep an extra close eye on him on the battle field, especially in the upcoming confrontation with Gangrel. She knew Frederick would be doing the same.

                Robin had been worried that revealing her feelings to Frederick would cause a chasm between them, unable to surpass. Though if anything, their tensions seemed to be lighter. Maybe it was because he valued honesty, that he wouldn’t hold her infatuation against her. Though if she had been planning on letting her feelings pass, the other female Shepherds had made that impossible. With the end of the war on the horizon, they liked to emphasize the note that it would soon be time for her wedding to be held. The questions Robin had to dodge when she first joined the Shepherds came back around at full force, particularly regarding their intimacy.

                Robin could not say that intimacy came to them as gentle strokes or warm kisses. Intimacy for them was when Robin woke at dawn to help Frederick set up camp, performing the chores she had seen him do so many times before, without being asked. It was Fredrick not cursing Robin when she fell asleep, face covered by a tome she had been reading, leaving a candle burning at her bedside. It was him extinguishing the flame, lifting the book from her unprying hands, and settling in beside her with as little movement as it would take to wake her. It was how they found themselves coming back to back in battle, and knowing that they had the other covered. They fought with a seamless sort of grace that one watching might think their movements were rehearsed. How he ducked as soon as she rose, how she blocked just as he swung. It seemed almost unnatural.

                What would never been said, nor seen by anyone but Naga herself, was that intimacy was when Robin rolled over on her sleep, laying her hand across Fredrick’s chest, and in his half-awake awareness, he only drew her closer.

 

“Robin, are you alright?”

                She had been clutching at her head, drawing away from Frederick, gritting her teeth. She shook her head to clear the fog that had overcome her. “I’m fine. My head just began to hurt so suddenly, I don’t know what it was.” She lowered her hand, which Frederick noted to be shaking. The sharp pain in her skull had passed as soon as it had arrived, but she felt there was part of it still lingering, prepared to strike back at a moment’s notice.

                “Perhaps you should lie down.” He suggested, to which she nodded wordlessly, laying her hand on the knight’s shoulder to help her stand. The rest of the group assembled around the fire were engrossed in a story Chrom was telling; she wanted to slip away without comment as soon as she could.

                She felt Frederick’s eyes on her back as she walked to their tent, struggling to keep herself from stumbling. She was glad she could trust the packed dirt to be clear of any stray rocks or debris, she wouldn’t trust herself to be able to avoid them otherwise.

                Robin fell into her tent, narrowly catching herself on the desk before she landed on the floor. She pushed herself up, her arms shaking to support herself on the table. Pain splintered across her skull, blurring her vision as she tried to focus on what was in front of her; a map of Plegia weighed down on her desk with tomes and small figurines. The lines blurred together, as did the sounds outside, and she felt herself falling, but never landing.

_“Robin . . . my daughter . . . it is time for you to fulfill your destiny.”_

There was a figure emerging from shadow. He stood as tall as a throne, garbed in gold and purple. His teeth were pointing sharp, dipping over his bottom lip as he grinned wide. It was Validar, as he had called himself. It seemed like years ago that Frederick and Robin had fought him in Ylisstol. Had she thought of his since?

                And why had he called her his daughter?

                Robin’s head was still swimming. She tried to press a hand to her brow, but found she had no control over her movements. Her eyes flicked back upwards to Validar, who was grinning admiringly, as if he were proud of her. Like a father would be. She wanted to flinch as he walked towards her, stopping only when he was close enough that she could feel his cold breath across her sweltering face.

                He took up her hand and yanked off the glove covering her left hand, revealing the purple mark that she kept hidden well enough there were times she forgot it was there. Validar tutted, tilting her chin up with a slender finger so she would look at him. “Why would you try to hide it? Are you not proud of your heritage?” She wanted to shake her head, spit at him maybe, but remained frozen.

                “Perhaps I need to show you what you’re capable of.”

                He covered her face with his hand, and she collapsed into his outstretched arms.

                Less than a second had passed, and she was inside a castle, with intricate marble floors and a ceiling that stretched so high she couldn’t be sure it was there, she saw only blackness. Validar was gone. Instead, Chrom was at her side, speaking with some urgency, but there was a pounding in her ears that prevented her from hearing a word he said. Her vision titled, though she herself felt steady, and there was red ebbing from the corners of her eyes. Chrom’s expression grew concerned. He took a step toward her, and she wanted to tell him not to, though she didn’t know why. She didn’t know why her arm had raised without her meaning to, why a gust of blinding white magic shot from her hand and pierced his stomach. She didn’t know why she didn’t feel anything when it happened.

                Chrom stumbled backward, clutching his chest. He was gaping at her, but he didn’t look angry. In a whisper, he muttered his final words, before collapsing to his knees, still and cold.

                _“This isn’t . . . your fault.”_

Robin woke in a cold sweat, alone, tears sliding down her face. She couldn’t remember ever falling asleep on the floor of her tent. Close outside, she heard the soft conversation of the Shepherds, still gathered around the fire, though she couldn’t fathom joining them. She wondered if they had been right not to trust her in the beginning.

                She wondered if she could still trust herself, after what she had seen.

* * *

 

The scout’s report came at the break of dawn. Gangrel and his subordinate, Aversa, spotted in the southern deserts. Even from the air it was evident how largely their forces had been depleted. Only a handful of soldier’s remained, faithful to the end.

                The Shepherd’s assembled their convoy and set out immediately, prepared to slay anything that looked even vaguely Plegian on the spot. The desert’s sand swirled between their legs as they marched, seeing little more than a mile or two in front of them. It mattered little, however; they knew exactly where they were supposed to be.

                Gangrel’s ashen face greeted them as warmly as if he had invited them over for tea. Chrom, Robin, and Frederick headed the march, stopping feet away from the king who radiated madness. “Prince Chrom, you’ve returned! Changed your mind about handing over the Fire Emblem, hm?” He seemed as if it hadn’t crossed his attention that over half his army had left him. He appeared confident, insane enough to think that he could fight the entire war on his own.

                Chrom wordlessly drew Falchion, leveling it at Gangrel. It was a dangerous thing to let him face the Mad King head on, but Robin knew that the only way he could find full peace of Emmeryn’s death was to exterminate the man who had caused it himself.

                He had taken no more than one step forward, had raised Flachion no more than halfway, when Gangrel cackled a maniacal laugh, raised his sword and charged forward with inhuman speed. The Levin sword plunged into Chrom’s chest before Robin could draw a gasp. Time slowed in that moment, like it had when Emmeryn had been falling from her perch. It caught up a second later, with a brightness and noise that seemed twice what it was before, an overwhelming spotlight on the fallen prince.

                “Chrom!” Robin screamed, dashing forward and dropping to her knees at his side. Unbidden, the memory of her vision from the night before rose to her memory. There hadn’t been this much blood in her dream. Not enough that she could bring her hand to his chest and have it return soaked in the stuff. None at all. It wasn’t magic that did this, though; it was the Levin sword that Gangrel was admiring in the sunlight, slick on the surface with Chrom’s blood.

                Robin turned on Gangrel, rage sparking in her eyes, fire rising in her heart. “Time to top the scales.” She growled, shooting from her hand a burst of yellow light that spiraled straight into his chest. It hit the fiend straight on, sending his staggering, his pointed crown falling from his disarrayed hair. He looked shocked, not expecting the blow, and then furious, as he registered the hit. Robin returned his fiery glare with a brighter one of her own.

                “You’re finished.” She spoke to his dying eyes. She heard the clank of Fredrick’s armor behind her as he rushed to Chrom’s side, giving frantic reassurances that the prince, whose head lolled on his shoulder with his eyes closed, would be alright.

                “You can’t kill what’s already dead, sweetheart.” Gangrel whimpered, blood welling at his lip, sliding down his chin. He fell over on his knees, face down in the sand. Robin turned to where Aversa had been standing a moment before, but the Dark Flier had gone, had absconded her sovereign in his final hour.

                The Mad King had fallen at last. He could sleep, maybe peacefully, eternally.

                As for Chrom, Robin prayed for the opposite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still fairly new to AO3's rating system, so if at any time in this story you think the rating should be bumped up to M, please let me know!


	7. For the Sake of Warmth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I think this chapter will speak for itself.

_Robin sat in the infirmary, as the sun dipped and rose in the sky and Chrom lay still, cold but alive._

_Her hand was wrapped firmly around his, her thumb resting over his pulse, her head buried in her arm as she nodded off, not for the first time, before shaking herself awake. She and Frederick had taken to rotating shifts, day and night, never leaving the prince alone. Lissa dropped in at arbitrary hours, sometimes weeping, until Libra reassured her he would wake soon._

_And wake he did, as the first signs of sunset bore through the tent walls, staining the room orange. Robin raised her head at the sound of his shuffling, her mouth dropped in surprise. He looked over at her heavily through drooping eyelids._

_“I-is he dead?”_

_“Yes,” She managed to get out before dissolving into tears._ “Yes.”

* * *

 

Yes, the Mad King was dead, sparking victory and a final peace to the Shepherds, the ability to breathe again. They hadn’t dared rejoice until Libra confirmed that Chrom’s injury was not as substantial as was feared, and besides from a few notched ribs and the after effects of dark magic, he would be right as rain by the end of the week.

                They finally had something to celebrate. The occasion spurred Vaike and Stahl to rush to the nearest town, and put some of their well-earned bullion to use at the local breweries. They returned rolling kegs with them, backs loaded with treats that had Gaius’s mouth watering from a mile away. A campfire was started that sparked towards the heavens, and the festivities began, a weary tactician the first among them.

                A huge weight had fallen from Robin’s shoulders. And when Vaike handed her a pitcher of overflowing amber liquid, she realizing she was not opposed to the idea of getting drunk. She was beside herself to throw back the froth and chug the lot of it. She had no memory of being inebriated, let alone drinking at all, though the bitter taste of the ale did not seem unfamiliar to her. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and grinned at Lissa beside her, eyes twinkling, who offered a small smile in return. It was strange seeing the tactician so relaxed, but the princess felt it may mark the end of their dispute. Though soon enough, Chrom would send the young woman off before she managed to sneak a snip of the ale that was flowing so freely. Aside from the children, Chrom and Libra were the only ones who refrained from drink, one out of brevity for his recovering state and the other out of chastity for his life’s devotion.

                Robin reclined on her elbows, warmed by the alcohol and the fire, looking around her companions gathered together. She had been expecting Frederick to join them, going as far to holding a place for him by the fire at her side. Even in his most stringent moments, she could tell he appreciated the Shepherd’s comradery. Pushing herself to her feet, wobbling slightly but resolved to find him, she set off in her search.  

                She found him sitting on the stout overlook by the lake, watching the silvery brook with no clear expression on his face. Robin was focused on navigating the steep knoll that lead to the overlook, holding her arms out to balance her. She clutched Frederick’s shoulder as she lowered herself to sit beside him, folding her legs beneath her. He hadn’t seemed displeased to see it was her who had found him, though he eyed her now with some trepidation after seeing her unbalance.

                “Have you been drinking?” He asked, raising a brow.

                “Well, not _excessively,_ but yeah, a bit. What are you doing out here by yourself? There’s a party going on, in case you didn’t know.”

                His visage darkened, and he turned his head again to focus on the water. “I wish not to commend what I cannot be certain of. I don’t believe Gangrel has truly been defeated. He’s merely retreated, no doubt strengthening his troops for a rebuttal that will strike us like a slap in the face. That is not something I wish to celebrate.”

Robin blanched at him. “He’s dead, Frederick. _I_ made sure of that.”

                “Don’t you remember what he said?” He returned sharply. “’You can’t kill what’s already dead.’”

                She withered slightly beneath his glare. “I think he was talking about his spirit. He believed he would be avenged.”

                “It takes but one villain to fall for a greater one to rise.” He murmured darkly. Unbidden, the image of Validar rose to Robin’s mind, sending a chill through her. She still hadn’t told anyone about her dream. About her being Validar’s child. About her killing Chrom. It seemed hardly an appropriate time.

                “Okay, well, I’m going back to the fun. See you later, maybe.” She pushed herself back to her feet, mood spoiled. As she started up the knoll, she cast one look back at him, which was enough time for her foot to catch on a loose stone and send her leg shooting out from beneath her.

                The fog in her mind stalled her reaction time, and she felt herself sliding back into the stream before she could even shout. She plunged into the icy waters, swallowing a mouthful on the way. Though the cold had made her fully alert, her tactician robes weighed her down, down to the bottom of the waters, which appeared black beneath the moonlight and swirled like a typhoon.           

                _“-elp!”_

Without a thought, Frederick kicked off his shoes and dove in after her, the chill of the stream coming as no shock thanks to years of training under adverse conditions. His heavy armor provided no obstacle as he scooped the now limp tactician into his arms and pushed himself to the banks.

                Cradling her to his chest, he broke into a sprint to the clearing, making a beeline for their tent. A few of the Shepherds glanced over at the sound emerging from the brush, and an immediate concern arose, which Frederick dispelled to the best of his ability. “She wanted to go skinny dipping but forgot to take her clothes off. Just needs to sleep off the night, I think.” The last thing he needed was his inebriated comrades to get stupider with concern than they already were from their drinking. He ducked into the tent, ignoring any further lewd comments made in their direction.

                Robin shuffled in his arms, blinking blearily. “-rederick?” He set her down and unbuckled her cloak, which landed in a wet heap on the floor. He threw it over the line of string that had at one point been used to divide their shared quarters.             

                “My- my books,’’ Robin coughed, the remains of the river water refilling her mouth. She bent to hold the soggy weight of a magic tome in her hands.

                “They’ll dry. Magical tomes tend to be element resistant.” He replied calmly. Fetching a set of dry garments from her knapsack, and a thick pair of woolen socks from his own, he handed them to her before retrieving a change of clothes for himself. They kept their backs to each other as they changed, hanging them on the line that held her cloak when they were finished.

                Frederick guided her to lay down, which she did mutely, letting out her ponytail so the wet strands fanned out from her head, hanging over the edge of the bed to begin drying. She curled into a tight ball and spoke through chattering teeth. “T-thank you, Frederick-k.”

                He thought only for a moment more before sliding into the cot beside her, all divisions abandoned. He ran his hand up and down her arm, dragging heat across her otherwise icy skin. She leaned into him, pressing her feet, clad in his socks, against his legs. He covered her ear with his palm, sliding down her face, to her nose, her lips, as to warm them. She turned her face to his touch, drawing the blankets closer to her. “Y-you’re such a good p-person.”

                “Are you still cold?” She nodded. He ran his thumb across her bottom lip, sending a shiver that had nothing to do with temperature down her spine. “Your lips are turning blue. Shall I go fetch Libra?”

               Robin shook her head and buried her face into his neck, the heat from his blush an unbidden heaven to her chilled skin. She felt his heartbeat pick up pace, a nervous thrum that she could only assume was spurred by their sudden closeness. In her frozen state, she was not in a position to be embarrassed. He was warm, and all she wanted to do was crawl under his skin and begin to feel again. They lay like that for some time.

              She soon felt her eyelids growing heavy, though she was wont to abandon the moment with Frederick, as drained as she was from her dive in the river. “I’m not so cold anymore.” She whispered sleepily against his neck.

               He nodded, his chin dipping into her hair. “Then perhaps you should rest.” She sighed, resigned, agreed. What she hadn’t been expecting was for him to withdraw from her arms and raise himself from the cot.

             “What are you going to do?” She asked, opening her eyes to watch him pull on his armor once more.

             “I must make sure the fire has been extinguished properly, and make my rounds to secure the camp for the night. I will make haste to return.” With that, he departed, slinking into the night. Had she really been expecting him to stay? He would likely fulfill all duties external to the camp first, waiting for the rest of the Shepherds to retreat into their tents before he carried out any fireside tasks. He may even fall asleep against a tree and claim he did it to spare her waking.

            Robin shivered once more when he was gone, before falling into a bleak and starless sleep.

 

Robin’s eyes peeled open at the crack of dawn, acutely aware of the man lying beside her, closer than he had ever dared before. She must have been shivering in her sleep, as now his arm was draped across her waist, and she could feel his breath at the nape of her neck. Her hand tentatively reached behind her, pulling her hair over her shoulder.

                He had braided her hair.

                The movement must have had alerted him to her wakefulness, as she felt his shift beside her, withdrawing his arm, again resuming a respectful distance between them. Robin rolled over to her side to face him. “You’re always gone when I wake up. Already far away.” Her voice was small.

                “I returned quite late. I suppose that led me to sleep in.” He dragged a hand down his face, and she was suddenly worried that he would leave her again, spring into action, making some excuse of needing to secure the tents or begin preparing breakfast, despite the fact that the rest of the Shepherds wouldn’t be awake for some time.

                “When’d you learn how to braid?” She asked curiously.

                “It was something Emmeryn would allow me to do for her, when she was young. I picked up knitting around the same time.”              

                His socks. Of course.

                He sat up in bed slightly, the covers dropping to his waist. It wasn’t like him not to wear a shirt to bed, though he had done it before on occasion. Though the temptation had never been greater than it was in that moment. He shivered as Robin reached out to let her fingers trail down his abdomen, lips curling into a smirk when he commented, “This is unusual.”

                Things had been unusual between them lately. “I agree. Do you wish for me to stop?”

                His jaw tensed; he may have been working the inside of his cheek between his teeth. At last, in a tense breath of air shot from his teeth, he told her, “No.”

                She blinked, gauging the air around them, their eyes bearing into each other’s, before raising herself on an elbow to close the gap between them, at last laying her lips upon his.

                She meant it to be a soft kiss, more akin to a peck, just something to say she was grateful. But once that weight had dropped, and she found herself as close to him as she was, she found it impossible to pull away. So instead she pressed further. She let her hand slide into his hair, teasing the silky strands between her fingers. She titled her head and kissed him once more, and again, tensing for the moment he would push her away and admonish her for her lustfulness, though that moment never came. He received every kiss like it was a gift, and traced her lips with his tongue as gently as he would seal off a letter.

                She pondered if this was new territory for him, as it was for her. She wondered why she hadn’t noticed sooner that their bodies fit perfectly together.

                His hands slid up her sides to cradle her shoulders, before he shifted her suddenly so that she was on her back, him looming over her. He lifted his lips from hers with the intention of finding new ground to cover along her neck, when the tent flap was torn open behind them and a yelp sounded, followed by a smack as Lissa flailed to cover her eyes with her hands.

                “Oh, I didn’t mean, I-” Her face exploded into a blush as she ran from the tent. Whatever her plan was for the day’s apology to Robin had withered in her throat.

                “Lissa, wait!” Robin tried to call after her. “Oh, gods.” She cursed, her hand still tangled in Frederick’s hair. “Oh gods oh gods _oh gods.”_


	8. Reason and Resonance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin and Frederick are at ends, and a stranger's appearance only serves to make things more confusing for the tactician and knight.

_“Lissa!”_

Robin ungracefully burst from her tent, nearly landing face first in the dirt and she rushed to draw her cloak around her. She hadn’t bothered to slip on shoes, and Frederick’s socks still swathed her feet as she swept onto the grounds in search of the flustered princess.

                Thanks to the flowing drinks from last night’s revelry, almost all of the Shepherds had yet to rise, still stowed away in their tents, trying to block out the sun and their raging headaches. It was fortunate for Robin, but she felt an annoyance rise all the same. Yes, it was surely a victory to commemorate, but if a tide of Risen had chosen this morning the ambush the camp, they would all be goners. Though there was a nagging in the back of her head that reminded her if she hadn’t taken a dive into the creek, she likely would have been just as indisposed.

                Shaking off the thought, she scanned the clearing for any sight of Lissa. She just caught a glimpse of her blond pigtails ducking behind the figure of Lon’qu, who stood next to Libra at the fireside. They were the only two awake, it seemed, though catching Robin’s frantic glare, Libra bade a quick farewell to Lon’qu, who remained frozen at the spot due to Lissa’s death grip on the back of his robes.

                “Lon’qu,” Robin said, trying to speak as kindly as she could. “Would you mind moving to the side for me, please?”

                “No.” The myrmidon replied curtly. If anything, he straightened, and let his hand fall to the sheath of is sword, as if he was prepared to fight her to keep her from speaking to Lissa. She was murmuring something behind him, which Robin could not hear as it was muffled into his sleeve, but Lon’qu flickering gaze between the two of him might suggest it was a submission. His hand fell from his sword reluctantly.

                “I just need to talk to her.” Robin pleaded. _“Privately.”_ She added, when he sidestepped the cowering princess, but stood his ground to remain present for their conversation. Scowling at her, he reluctantly withdrew, joining Libra at the perimeter of the campsite.

                “Let me explain.” She turned to Lissa, who had stood and was willing to look her in the eye, though her cheeks were still burning bright. “I fell into the stream last night. Frederick saved me. We just- I was trying to say thank you.”

                Lissa gaped a little, more out of incredulity than anything else. “You know how _I_ thank people? I say, ‘hey, thanks!’ and then it’s over with. I certainly don’t jump them-”

                “I did not,” She hissed, taking the princess by the shoulder, drawing her away from the Shepherds just now beginning to gather around the fire, nestled well within earshot. “If anything, he jumped me.”

                “Did I now?” They both jumped at the appearance of the knight behind him. He was back in his full armor, not a hair out of place to betray his previous entanglements.

                “Gosh, Frederick, don’t sneak up on people like that, that’s Kellam’s job.” Lissa chided, aiming for levity out of the situation though her shaky voice only faltered it further. She ducked passed Robin and sped back to her own tent, grabbing Lon’qu’s arm on the way, effectively removing herself from whatever confrontation would ensue, which, judging by Frederick’s sour expression, would not be so blissfully intimate as it had been in the tent.

                Robin’s shoulders tensed as she turned to him, offering a shy smile. Frederick’s mouth twitched, as if he meant to return it, before he smoothed out his expression cold. He cleared his throat, taking a step closer to her only so he could keep his voice as low as possible.

                “I don’t appreciate you distracting me so early in the morning. If I had risen to make my rounds as per usual, this whole situation could have been avoided, yes, but-”

                “I distract you?” Robin repeated, oddly pleased with herself. His withering glare soon curdled that feeling. He pushed a hand through his hair, wincing slightly.

                “Yes. Gods, _yes,_ but that is not the point. I can’t- you ask too much from me. My duty remains with the kingdom, and I cannot allow myself to find weakness in you. Such in not the way of a knight.”

                “You can’t call me a weakness just because I’m a woman.” She folded her arms, looking up at him with a raised brow.

                “You know that’s not what I meant.” He rolled his eyes, huffing a sigh. It was evident he didn't want to deal with her.

                She uncrossed her arms, a frown tugging at her lips. “Don’t you want to be happy?” She pleaded as a last resort.

                “I will be happy enough ensuring the halidom is safe.” He replied stonily.

                Was he implying that she was selfish for wanting more from their relationship? _Relationship._ Bah, she needed to stop pretending they even had one in the first place. Maybe she hadn’t been expecting things to change, but they had, _they had,_ and she had jeopardized all of it. Perhaps it was time their engagement came to an end. They could say it was mutual, conflicting personalities, and it would all be over with. Her ring would be returned to the royal treasury, Robin would find another person to bunk with, and when they came back to back on the battlefield again, she would be as indifferent as the enemy. 

              “Well,” She responded, drawing her cloak tight around her. “It seems we have nothing more to talk about then.” She dodged his hand trying to grab her arm, and fled. She ended up in the woman’s bathing tent, the only place she knew he wouldn’t follow, and threw off her clothes before diving into the waters.

              She held her breath for as long as she could beneath the water until she resurfaced, chest heaving, wondering, in Naga’s name, what was her place in all of this? Why was she here, and what did that _matter?_

 

* * *

 

“Robin, have you noticed anything, I don’t know, _different_ about Frederick lately?” Chrom asked, casting a surreptitious eye around for any sighting of the knight, as they walked along the endless stretch of trail. They were on their way back to Ylisstol, ready to proclaim their victory to the people, and hopefully rest easy for a little while. They would be arriving in the capitol on the morrow, if all went as planned.

                “No idea what you mean.” Robin replied, attempting to keep the edge from her voice. In the days following the kiss, she had attached herself to Chrom’s side, telling herself it was for purely unselfish reasons. She wanted to make sure he was recovering well, hovering because she cared about him, sleeping on the floor of his tent in case he needed anything in the night. It was absolutely not because she knew there was a certain knight who cared about him too, and would duly stand at his lord’s side, staking nothing over Chrom’s attentions.

                Robin seemed to have overestimated him, however, as said knight began to keep his distance despite his vow to serve his lord. Frederick would walk feet ahead of them, picking up wayward rocks as always, or slink behind, scouting for any potential ambush, but he was rarely ever next to him. His conversations with Chrom were quick and to the point when she was present, and he never let his glance stray over to Robin more than twice.

                A silence fell between Chrom and Robin as they continued down the well-worn path. It wasn’t until the familiar groan and growl of the Risen could be heard from up ahead, that the Shepherds leapt out of their strolls and into a panicked run. They came across a clearing at the end of the road, flooded with Risen, who trampled the small flowers beneath their jolting gaits.

                Robin quickly scanned the scene. “There’s a child down there!” Her eyes immediately zoned in on the group of Risen circling a young boy, who was visibly shaking beneath his oversized purple cloak. She needed no more motivation than that before diving into the melee, shortly followed the rest of the Shepherds on her heels.

                They stormed the field, Robin making a beeline for the child, magic bursting from her fingertips at lightning speeds. Chest heaving, eyes wild, she took down walls of Risen at a time, all else a blur to her. She listened to nothing more than the echoing clang of Falchion sounding occasionally behind her, letting her know that either Chrom or Lucina had her back.

                They could have been fighting for hours or minutes, Robin was unaware. She took in a shuddering breath as the last Risen burst into a cloud of purple smoke in front of her. She ached intensely, and her knees threatened to buckle beneath her.

                _“Wow!”_ Robin whirled at the unfamiliar voice behind her. The small brunette child she had been intent on protecting was now looking up at her in awe, clutching a tome to his chest so tightly that his knuckles became white. “That was amazing, Mother!”

                Robin’s hand fell to her side, and she took an unsteady step away from the child. “What did you just call me?”

                The boy’s grin faltered as he watched the step she took away from him. “Why are you looking at me like that, Mom? What did I do?”

                Her lip was visibly quivering. “Are you saying you’re my- that you came back with Lucina? From the future?”

                “I-I don’t remember.” The child bit down on his lip, kneading it between his teeth as he fought to think, but only drew up blanks. “I don’t know. But I know you’re my mother. And I’m Morgan. Is that- is that okay?”

                Suddenly, an alertness flooded through her, as if she were just now waking. Robin dropped to her knees, drawing her son, Morgan, into a tight hug. Tears streamed down her face, breaking through the coating of sweat. It seemed impossible to believe, this must have been how Chrom felt when Lucina was revealed herself to him. But she believed it. She believed the boy who was shaking in her arms, who cried _mother, mother,_ into the shoulder of her cloak, which looked just like his.

                _Her son._

She clutched the small boy tighter to her, smoothing her hand over the soft hair of his head. Her throat was closed with emotion, thinking. She had a son. He was beautiful.

                “Hey, it’s dad!” Robin’s eyes snapped open, and her eyes followed to where Morgan was pointing over her shoulder, to the group of Shepherds that had encircled them curiously. Walking towards them, now close enough to touch, armor reflecting in the sunlight with a shiny and angelic gleam, was Frederick.

                Robin nearly fainted on the spot. 


	9. Of Why and Why Not

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frederick and Robin face the facts.  
> This chapter is rated M for some sensuality.

Robin made her way back to camp with Morgan walking beside her, securely tucked beneath her arm, the breadth of her cloak covering both of them. She walked with a quickened pace, trying to distance herself from Frederick, and hide herself from him if possible. They had nearly reached her tent when she noticed how Morgan held his right hand at his side, folded under his arm. When Robin questioned him about it, he gave her a mumbled response, “It’s just a scratch, from one of the Risen. I’m okay.”

                “Give me your hand.” She instructed. He did so, and as she examined the wound more closely, she saw he was right. It was a small injury, but Robin nonetheless send him to Libra’s tent to have it dressed. It would give her some time to think, anyway.

                She walked Morgan to the cleric’s tent, giving his hair an affectionate rustle before sending him inside. He gave her a reassuring smile in return before letting the tent flap drop between them. Turning back to the clearing, she caught sight of the blue haired lord her mind had been nagging at her to speak with. “Lucina!” She called, breaking into a jog to catch up with her.

                “Yes, Robin? I was just going to check on Morgan.” Lucina appeared calm as ever, not at all phased by the apparent stress on Robin’s features.

                “Why didn’t you tell me Frederick and I have a son in the future?” She hissed. She wished to speak privately before Frederick found them. She’d need to muster all the courage she owned to face _that_ conversation.

                Lucina blinked, not comprehending where the woman’s distress was coming from. “You are surprised? I suppose I could have told you that Morgan had traveled back with me, but I didn’t wish to get your hopes up in case we remained separated. There are still a few others out there that I am anxious to reunite with. Did you perhaps think you were not able to bear children?”

                “No, that’s not it-” Robin trailed off. She did suppose it hadn’t been at the forefront of her mind to think that she may have a child in the future. Should it have been such a shock to her? Panne had not seemed surprised in the least when Yarne had found the Shepherds. She had assumed motherhood as easy as donning new clothes. Still, she had been married for months beforehand, which must have leveled some of the shock. Chrom’s case was slightly different, as he had already bonded with Marth, so taking Lucina into his arms was done easily. Even still, the fact that Robin had a child, with _Frederick,_ was inconceivable.

                “Did Chrom . . . did he not tell you?” The young noble remained clueless in expression. Robin groaned, unconsciously pushing a hand through her hair. “We’re not really engaged, Frederick and I. It was just to get the Shepherds to trust me, do you see? Why would they want an amnesiac wearing Plegian robes to be their tactician? I needed some cover.” Her ears burned as she spoke, as it seemed a pitiful thing to say aloud. She had been hiding beneath a diamond ring, taking all the credit for picking Frederick’s frozen heart. She wondered if the Shepherds would despise her when they learned the truth.

                “So you’ve been lying to your friends all this time?” Lucina asked blankly, causing Robin to wince.

                “They weren’t my friends at the time.” She grumbled. “And all the same, I just wish you would have told me about Morgan.” Robin shuddered to think about how _it_ would happen, in the future. Would it be something like what happened in their tent earlier that week? An impulse that went too far? A fling, to gain some release, meaning nothing, that would have a greater consequence than either of them could anticipate? Her face swarmed red at the thought, and the worries she had had of tarnishing Frederick’s reputation resurfaced. Getting her pregnant while they were unmarried, as surely they would never allow the rouse to go as far as getting married, he had made her certain of _that._

Lucina eyed the duress in Robin’s eyes with a measure of confusion. “I suppose I still don’t understand. In the future, you have Morgan, and they two of you are-”

                “Robin!” Frederick’s voice called to her from across the camp, and he was by her side in a moment. She turned to Lucina, a screaming plea for help in her eyes, though the blue haired princess only bade the knight a polite greeting, before departing for the healer’s tent to check in on Morgan.

                Robin reluctantly turned to Frederick. He bombarded her with questions before she could get a word in edgewise. He was interested to know who that child was, why he kept staring at him, why he looked so familiar. She was close to dragging him by his ear to their tent so they could speak privately, though thankfully he complied when she asked for the privacy.

                The air inside their tent was stifling, and Robin’s skin was crawling. “Morgan is our son.” She managed to choke out, though she couldn’t look at him when she said it. She focused on a patch on the wall of their tent, no doubt sewn by Frederick at some ungodly hour of the morning.

                _“Our_ son?”

                “Yes, from the future.”

                The two didn’t dare to breathe.

                Frederick said nothing for some time. When he did speak, his words surprised her.

                “So, you do stick around.” She titled her head, eyed him over her shoulder. He looked relieved.

                “Of course.” She said. She had proof, now, at least. To him and herself, she was going to remain a part of the Shepherds, wholly loyal to Chrom. At least he now couldn’t doubt her in that respect.

                Frederick laid a hand on her shoulder, turned her around to face him. “He has your eyes.” He remarked, a strange warble in his voice.

                “He has your nose.” She replied, a smile crossing her lips. She couldn’t help it.

                And it was as if Morgan’s appearance had answered all of his lingering questions, if Robin would ever reveal malicious intent towards Ylisse and abandon him just as they were beginning to get along. Morgan was promise.

                “My son,” Frederick was still testing the words on his tongue, the truth of it sinking in. He never thought of having children of his own, couldn’t picture it. His eyes snapped up to Robin’s, bearing into hers intently. “My wife.” He said it in a way that he never had before, like he believed it. And then there was the way he looked at her. Not just with respect, but a near holy reverence, like he would lay down his life for her. It was . . . adoration. And just so, he leaned in close a laid a gentle kiss to her lips, remaining close enough afterwards that their bottom lips brushed when he spoke. “I must say I am still a bit in shock.”

                “This is new territory for us both.” She replied at a whisper.

                He tilted his head to kiss her again, before drawing away and opting to press his forehead against hers. His hands were in fists at her sides, and Robin could feel the tide of rejection about to fall. “Please stay.” She blurted out, curling her fingers around the top of his breastplate to hold him there. “Gods, I think I’m in lo-”

                He threw himself at her and sealed her words away, like he could undo the thought by refusing her the chance to speak it. He channeled what passions must have been present at Morgan’s conception into that moment, leaving her lips red, rolled between his teeth before his tongue lapped over the pulsing skin. He pushed his hands through her hair, tilting her head back to take her mouth thoroughly into a kiss. There was the hunger the other women in the camp wanted to hear about, but never would. With no amount of prodding would Robin ever divulge how whole she felt then, how lavished she was to his attentions.

                Sliding her arms around his neck, she walked them backwards until her back hit the edge of her desk. Sensing her motive, he lifted her onto the table and she hooked a leg around his waist, feeling drunk off his presence. She didn’t care to breathe, or straighten her composure, all she wanted was him. And, in a drastic shift of opinion, he seemed to feel the same way.

                Frederick’s intent was clear in the way his hands roamed up and down her body, cupping the back of her knees, tugging at the hem of her shirt. She broke out in gooseflesh when his fingers grazed her bare stomach. “What happened to waiting until after a proper wedding?” She gasped as he teased the hollow of her throat with his tongue. She had never seen him like this before, this excited, this _alive._

“Can we agree that things were different back then?” He asked, and she couldn’t say he was wrong.

                “It’s not even noon.” Her eyes flickered to the tent flap, as if she were expecting someone to enter at any moment.

                Frederick tore himself away from her as they both gasped to reclaim their breath. “I-I can stop.” He said. Even as he spoke, his hands were sliding up and down the outside of her thighs, leaving a trailof fire in their wake.

                Robin returned her eyes to his, a smile returning to her face at the sight of his mussed hair and blushing cheeks. She tightened her arms around his neck and leaned into him, pushing her hesitations to the back of her mind. She had made her decision. “I won’t ask you to.” In the future, they must love each other. It was her intent to prove it.

                His armor fell to the ground with hollow thuds, lost to their ears. Her fingers shook as she unknotted his tie and began work on undoing the buttons down his shirt. When it became too obvious where their actions may lead, and were in fact leading to, he lifted her from the table and laid her on the cot, cradling her head with one hand and her hip with the other. She had latched both her legs around his waist to keep close to him, as she truly wanted to be close to him.  

                Clothes were pushed away and dropped to the floor, until there was nothing more than skin against skin, hearts beating in time. Robin reveled in the feel of his muscles under her fingertips, and it turn, Frederick turned his attention to the curves she kept hidden so well beneath her cloak. There was no pain, as Robin was told there would be, but she didn’t wish to linger on what that meant. She focused instead on angling her hips better against Frederick’s, causing him to suck in the air between his cheeks. She felt ever spot on her skin where his lips had touched, as if they were all new heartbeats. They were sure to bruise, and she loved the idea of that. There would be no doubt that they belonged to each other.

                Evening had passed as the final ecstatic, breathy moan passed their lips in sync. Robin felt her eyelids begin to droop as he lifted himself off her and collapsed by her side. Frederick wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her to his chest, pressing a heavy kiss to the crown of her head. She grinned, laying a hand over his chest as he tucking her head beneath his chin. As the erratic beating of their hearts slowed, she feel into a blissful sleep, more at ease than she could say she had ever been.

 

_“Robin . . . come to me.”_

                 Validar was calling to her. But the fear he used to inflict into her was no longer there. Robin found herself smiling as she bounded up the stairs of his palace. She burst into the throne room, where Validar and Aversa were waiting. They exchanged a coquettish glance when she entered.

                Robin ran to him, launching herself into his arms. “Oh, father! I’m getting married!” She exclaimed, burying her face in the black folds of his cloak.

                _“Ha!_ Grima’s in love.” Aversa snickered, and received a warning glare from Validar. He passed a hand over her hair.              

                “That’s wonderful, dear.” He crooned. “But you know . . . you can only choose one.” He gestured to her left hand, which, free of her glove, was proudly emblazoned with the mark of Grima, along with her sparkling ring. Robin nodded sagely, raising her hand to cover her heart.

                _“Robin . . . hear me . . . heed my call.”_

A whirling black vortex had opened behind them, and a pair of gleaming red eyes spoke to her from within it. Robin twisted the ring from her finger and dropped it to the ground, where it vanished in a tiny plume of smoke.

               “Grima . . . ” She whispered, heading towards the voice. Robin found herself smiling as she ventured into the black abyss that was the demon's heart.


	10. Dearly Departing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit shorter chapter as tensions escalate. Next chapter will be Frederick-centric.

Robin’s eyes snapped open the instant the fell dragon swallowed her heart in her dream. She was panting slightly as she wrapped the blankets tightly around her and squeezed her eyes closed once more, wishing for her dream to fade off in the cesspool of her memory. Yet, the images remained as persistent in her mind as if she truly had lived them. Wont to be forgotten, etched into the back of her skull.

                She rolled over in her cot, hoping to gather some warmth from the man asleep beside her, but found she was alone. Robin sighed. She shouldn’t have expected not to wake up alone, this she knew, but a flighty disappointment rose in her chest all the same. She could remember last night vividly, the paths his fingers, his mouth, had traced along her skin, as well as the feel of his own body beneath her searching hands.

                How lovely it would have been for them to wake up together. Instead, that morning, Frederick had risen at sunrise and tended to the morning’s duties, leaving Robin to sleep to the end of breakfast. It was Lissa who popped her head into their tent to alert her that Stahl was going to help himself to her rations if she wasn’t by the fire in the next five minutes. She pointedly ignored the purpling bruises on the back of Robin’s neck and shoulders.

                Robin sighed again after Lissa departed. She really had been expecting for that experience to change things between them. She expected him to be there when she woke, blush and grin when a meaningful glance was passed between them. Instead she woke to the cold sweep of a draft brush over her bare shoulder, and the memory of a nightmare she couldn’t shake, mostly because it didn’t feel wrong to her until she was cognizant enough to reflect on it. It made sense in her mind to be terrified of Validar, but something in her heart spoke differently. She could only assume it was the tug of paternity.

                She dressed slowly, her limbs feeling heavy as she braced herself for the day ahead. Would he stand to look her in the eye? Were his orgasmic moans the night before the last he would ever speak her name?

                Ducking out of the tent, she waved away the calls for her to join the group finishing their breakfast by the fire. She hoped her attempt to smile was enough to reassure them, though it did little to comfort her own self.

                She looked for Frederick in the weapon’s tent, then the supply tent, but with no luck. She at last came upon him by the stream that ran along the edge of the clearing, nearly finished with washing the Shepherd's clothes. She watched him for a few moments, holding herself in the shadow of the trees, before swallowing her trepidation and joining him at the bank. They were close enough to the camp that the occasional shout or clamor could still be heard, but there were enough trees to block them from sight. They were mostly alone, and that on its own caused her hands to shake.

                “Frederick,” She called softly, seating herself beside him, though keeping the basket of clothing between them.

                “Good morning, Robin.” He replied, dipping his head. It was formal, impersonal, and Robin felt she was going into a battle she knew was already lost.

                “Are we going to talk about what happened last night?” She asked softly, tracing pattern with her finger onto his thigh.

              "Yes, about that."  He cleared his throat once, avoiding eye contact with her as she had predicted. “I may have acted rashly.” He replied. He laid his hand over hers to stop the motion, though he did not withdraw from the touch entirely.

“Rashly?” She echoed. “Are you saying you regret it?”

                He bit his lip, hard, before replying. “No, I-” She leaned forward and pressed her lips to his, hoping to convince him he had no need to hesitate. She slid her fingers into his hair while his hands gripped her shoulders tightly, torn between pushing her away and pulling her closer. They tasted each other, fell into each other, but in the end Frederick’s resolution broke them apart. He was breathing heavily, his forehead pressed against hers as he fought to regain his sense.

                “I told you I didn’t want you to stop.” She whispered, her fingers ghosting over the valleys beneath his eyes.

                “Perhaps you should have.” He replied, thoroughly detaching himself from her and setting himself the furthest he had been from her since the start of their conversation. Robin bristled, noting the obvious distance he was putting between them. “It is not my duty to be having relations with our army’s tactician-”

                “Because you’re a knight, of course.” She spat back at him. “This is nothing I haven’t heard before from you. You won’t let yourself give in to _anything,_ and that’s what makes you impossible to be around sometimes! I just want to know why you think denying yourself _me_ makes you any stronger. I don’t understand you, Frederick.”

                “You’re not so transparent yourself.” He returned, just as coldly. “You’ve been talking in your sleep, you know. You’ve been repeating that man’s name, Validar.” He bit out the word, his lips pulling back into a sneer. Robin considered cowering from him, before she curled her hands into fists, fingernails breaking the skin of her palms as she did so. She straightened, returning his vehemence with her own sort.

                “Yes, he’s been in my dreams. He’s been speaking to me. Some of these dreams . . . I believe to be premonitions. Last night, I saw myself returning to Plegia, and meeting Validar at the palace. It-it felt like I was going home.” It was like a slap in the face to him, when she said that.

                How deluded he must have been to believe, while watching her fall asleep in his arms, that her home was with _him._

                Despite seeing his wounded expression, and feeling wounded enough by it herself, she continued, “It wasn’t just the dreams that made me feel this way. I can’t say that I haven’t been thinking about it since that night we met him in the palace courtyard. He recognized me. He knew who I was. I want to know who I am.”

                His hand took hers in an iron grip, as he looked at her with a mix of fury and despondency. “Why does that matter?” He asked, breathing deeply through his nose. His grip threatened to crush her fingers.              

                She tore her hand from his grasp. “It matters,” She fumed, “because I’m not your _wife._ I’m not Ylisse’s greatest tactician. So _who_ am I? And why do you act like it’s such a crime that I want to find out?”

                “There is a danger in unanswered truths that I don’t think you’re seeing here.” He answered cryptically. “It could very well be a trap.”

                “The only trap I see here is Chrom wheedling you to marry me.” She told him, pushing herself to her feet, dodging his grab for her arm.

                Red with fury, and not in the least bit sorry, she stormed away from camp and not once looked back to see if he would follow her. She knew he wouldn’t be. She knew he didn’t care.

                What she didn’t know was that he was, and he did.

 

* * *

 

 

Robin made her way to Plegia’s capitol with little incident, the good of her face hidden by her cloak, allowing her to blend in like any other citizen. She knew her way to the castle, and stopped not once on her way but to purchase a late breakfast with the spare bullion she found in her pocket, that she ate on the way. The heat bothered her little, neither did the soreness in her legs nor the ache in her chest.

                Upon reaching the palace, she was stopped by the guards, but when she allowed her hood to fall and expose her face, they stepped aside without another word. The flags stationed on either side of the massive doors to the entrance fluttered violently in the wind, the movement sounding like a slap as Robin made her way up the stone steps.

                Aversa met her at the top of the steps. “Why, Ylisse’s great tactician, come home to roost. Follow me.” She purred, before turning around and making her way to the throne room without another word. Robin followed closely at her heels, casting furtive glances around the long stretch of hall. She was aware that anything, or anyone, could be hiding in the deep pools of shadow that collected in the corners of the room and behind the stone pillars that supported the vastly high ceiling. Little sunlight made it through the windows set into the walls as they were covered by thick velvet drapes that bore the same insignia that marked Robin’s left hand. She had removed her gloves upon entering the building, and, after a few moments hesitation, slipped her ring into the pocket of her cloak.

                They had reached the throne room. Two attendents stationed on either sides of the doors snapped to attention once they caught sight of Aversa, and rushed to tug on the large iron handles to grant them entrance. Both the young men’s cheek were flushed red, though Robin thought that had little to do with exertion and more with the winks Aversa had bestowed upon each of them as she passed.

                Robin fixed her sights on the end of the room, which looked minutely different from the hall they had just came from, except for the large black throne that took up a majority of the space. In the seat was Validar, his fingers curled around the armrests looking more like talons. It was no surprise to see him sitting there, not when his presence had been calling to her like a siren all this time.

                He stood from his throne, unfolding to his full height as Robin and Aversa reached the dais leading up to it. She did not pitch herself into his arms as she had in her dream, rather stood her ground and prayed to all the gods she knew that she could suppress her fear beneath a strong voice and unwavering stance.

                “Why are you here, now?” He asked, tilting back his chin to appraise her. “I’ve been calling to you for quite some time.”

                “I want to know who I am.” She said, though her voice shook, betraying herself.

                And his laugh, like thunder, echoed down the hall. “You are a fool.” He hissed, and stretched out his hand, smoke pouring from his palm. A flash of purple light, and Robin felt her knees give way as she slid to the cold floor.

                Blackness was all she could see.


	11. Armed to the Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Climax! Next week's chapter will be a continuation, not an epilogue.  
> I've also been going through previous chapters and editing out the embarrassing number of typos. It will be much more readable if anyone decides to give it a reread later on!

There was not a sight more likely to strike utter fear straight to a man’s core than Frederick hunched over in the armory tent, sharpening his lance with his brows knit together, fixed with a grim and deadly frown. The sound of steel against steel permeated the camp while he worked, a harsh clashing noise that had the Shepherds covering their ears as they attempted to socialize around the campfire.

                Chrom, having no doubt of who it was that was causing such a commotion from the armory, went to investigate, after Panne had fled the camp, claws clamped over her sensitive taguel ears.

                “Frederick, what is the meaning of this? Is there a battle on the horizon that I’ve failed to see?” Chrom ducked into the tent, looking at his knight with an amused though wary expression.

                “Not for you, milord.” Frederick stated, rising after he was convinced that his lance could be no sharper. He cleared his throat, turning around to face Chrom. “I believe Robin has returned to Plegia. I intend to retrieve her. I shan’t be gone for more than a day, perhaps two. In the meantime, I’ve passed a written list of duties to Cordelia and Cherche. They will keep the camp running smoothly enough, until I return.”

                Chrom blinked once, caught on the words _Robin has returned to Plegia._ “Robin’s gone?” He was gaping a bit. He had been looking for his tactician that morning, though thought little when he hadn’t chanced to find her. She had been acting much more tense lately, and eventually conceded that it would be best to give her some space to herself. He’d never imagine that she’d left the camp, to go to Plegia, of all places. What business did she have in enemy territory, that she couldn’t tell him about?

                “Yes, milord. But you mustn’t worry; I’m prepared to go find her.”

                “I can tell.” Chrom replied, eyeing the lance he held in a white knuckled grip. It looked sharp enough to draw blood from the slightest nick, an observation that had him backing towards the exit of the tent. “Look, Frederick, if Robin’s missing, than we need to assemble a team to find her. Even you can’t do this on your own.”

                A wounded look passed Fredrick’s face, before he straightened his composure and tightened his grip on his lance. “I know myself to be capable, milord. I believe myself to be more than prepared. Until I return, you can hold down the camp here, I'll trust you to it."

                "All the same, Frederick, I have to ask that you rethink this foolishness. You can't barge into Plegia alone, you'll be far too outnumbered." Chrom intoned.

                “It’s my responsibility-”

                “-Frederick, you can’t feel obliged to give yourself a death wish!” Chrom shouted.

                “Perhaps you should have thought of that before you handed me that ring.” Frederick snapped, two spots of red rising to his cheeks. Chrom started. Frederick had never used that tone of voice on him, not once. He felt like a child, then, receiving a punishment he knew he all too well deserved.

                Chrom bit the inside of his cheek, and stepped away from the tent’s exit resignedly. “Well, you should be leaving then. I expect you haven’t a moment to lose.”

                “Milord.” Frederick bowed his head and strode past him.

                Chrom fell back on an overturned crate with a sigh, passing a hand down his face and wondering why everyone in his life seemed to be leaving him.

                Frederick had been too preoccupied to notice the figure that had been ducking behind the tent with his ear pressed to the canvas. Upon hearing the words of Robin’s departure, the figure had stumbled from his crouching position, his legs of jelly inadequate to support him. Morgan’s hood had fallen from his head, revealing his look of shock and sorrow as Frederick burst from the tent, heading across camp to where his horse was tethered.

                Brushing dirt from his hands and knees, Morgan broke into a sprint across the clearing, feeling, not for the first time, that he was racing against time.

                Frederick levelled the saddlebags onto his horse’s back, preparing to mount, when a small voice behind him made him freeze.

                “Dad?”

                Frederick tensed beneath his armor, slowly turning around to regard the child looking up at him with leaking eyes. _His son,_ he reminded himself. Without Robin there, it seemed a much more difficult concept to grasp.

                “You’re leaving, to go find Mother?” He asked, hoping what he had overheard from the armory tent was somehow misconstrued.

                Fredrick nodded. “You should worry not, son. I will return, along with your mother.” He spoke as indifferently as if he were addressing a passing complaint about what was to be served in the mess hall that week.

                “That’s what you said last time.” Morgn protested, daring to step forward and grab Frederick’s hand, the one that wasn’t clutching a weapon. “That’s all I can remember. You said that you would return but you never came back.” He murmured, rubbing the toe of his boot into the dirt. He dropped his father’s hand after saying it.

                Frederick tensed again, in the absence of any words that would seem a suitable enough response to make up for years of uncertainty and remorse. “I-” He paused to place his hand on Morgan’s shoulder, setting aside his lance to tilt his chin up with a finger so that their eyes met. “I cannot speak for the actions of my future self. But I promise you, Morgan, I am not going to leave you before I get the chance to know you.”

                The boy’s eyes filled with tears. He threw himself at his father, locking his arms around his neck. Frederick couldn’t recall the last time he had been embraced in such a way. When lady Lissa was very young, perhaps. It felt nice. He brought his arms around his son, holding him against his armor plated chest.

                “Do you have to leave? I don’t want to be alone again.” There was a profound sadness in the child’s eyes, Robin’s eyes. Frederick swallowed a rising lump in his throat.

                “I’m leaving so you won’t have to be alone. I’ll bring Mother back so we can be a family.”

                “But why has Mother gone?” He whispered.

                Frederick sighed. “She’s confused about who her family is. But it’s us, my boy, it’s _us.”_

__

The hooves of Frederick’s horse slapped against the jagged cobblestone as he rode into the streets of Plegia, fast as fury goes. He attracted more than a few glances as he strode through the streets, blistering in the arid temperatures, his horse towering above all other passing merchant mules and ponies. He wore such a look of authority, outright determination, that not one person felt it was their right to question him.

                The guards at the palace thought differently. But that was what he had sharpened his lance for, after all.

                “Pick a god and pray!” He shouted over the din of metal against metal, knocking several guards to the floor. One would think Tharja had cast a speed charm on him; he seemed to move faster than the eye could follow. And perhaps she had, for it was true she too had a penchant for eavesdropping and white-haired tacticians.

                He deflected blows as if he knew what his opponent was planning to strike before the movement to do so had been made. It was with an impossible measure of dexterity and haste that he made it to the palace’s throne room where he dismounted from his steed, rightly guessing that that’s where Robin would be.

                For the first time that day, he nearly cowered. Robin lay limp on the floor, eyes closed, though her chest rose with shallow breaths. She looked nearly at peace in her unconscious state, but Frederick knew better. Validar stood over her, dark magic still rolling off his palms. He grinned maliciously, his ashen eyes flickering over the knight with malicious intention. Aversa stood not far behind.

                “Stay away from her!” Frederick shouted, dropping to his knees in front of her. “Robin,” He whispered, cradling her head beneath his palm.

                “You’d best not call her Robin.” Validar chuckled, looking down at his daughter fondly. “Grima will awaken in her, soon enough. She’ll have no use for that peasant’s name then. Though I did wonder who this belonged to.” He held Robin’s engagement ring between his bony fingers. It seemed to have lost some of its luster in the way he looked at it.

                “Grima?” Frederick echoed. “What are you talking about?”

                “You haven’t realized it by now?” Aversa sniggered, stepped forward to stand beside Validar. “You saw the mark of the fell dragon on her hand and thought it meant nothing?”

                “The blood of Grima has been in my lineage for some centuries,” Validar said softly. “though it wasn’t until Robin was born that he finally took a liking to it. Yes, when Grima is ready to awaken, it will be through Robin’s body that this world falls to his divine destruction. The daughter of your puny lord had not revealed this much, I take it?”

                Unwatched by the party of three, who were all glaring deathly daggers upon one another, Robin’s eyes flickered open to the voices above her.

                “Anyway,” Validar drawled on. “I do believe it will be best to keep her here until that awakening. Aversa, my dear, will you go fetch a servant to prepare her rooms? I’ll take care of the knight here.”

                “Of course.” Aversa bowed to Validar, before passing a wink to Frederick. “This is what she wants, you know. If you truly seem to care for her, you’d respect her wishes, shouldn’t you think?” With that, she departed, hips sauntering in her wake.

                Robin had regained her cognizance, though she remained still, hoping it would remain unnoticed that she had woken. Frederick and Validar were staring each other down, heating up a charge.

                She nearly gasped when she saw how Validar held his fist behind his back, gathering a powerful bundle of magic. How could Fredrick not notice the action? He was so focused on the other man’s face, trying to detect any hint of a lie behind the malicious, forewarning words. Robin was a vessel for Grima, the fell dragon, harbinger of all end to their world? The thought slowed his blood, turned it to lead. He felt so heavy with the tiredness of fighting off all the guards, with the terror that his love was a monster.

                It was that weight that forbid him to act, even if he had seen it coming.

                Validar withdrew his hands from behind his back, which were sparking dangerously. The room had darkened, though the static light fizzing off his palms cast sporadic, fleeting shadows across his skeletal face, grinning madly. He was too fast for Frederick to react, and pounced like a mountain wolf.

                Thanks to the gods, he was not too quick for Robin.

                With a shout, she reared up between the two men, the magic she had been quietly conjuring in her own palms sparking off in all directions. Validar reared back in surprise, proving advantageous as it made it easier for her to knock him to the floor.

                She covered his face with her hands, magic pouring from her palms, fanning over her father’s face in waves. She felt the skin of her palms sear as they pressed against his simmering flesh, as smoke rose from the space between her fingers. Her elbows threatened to buckle with the exertion, and the pain. Validar clawed at her arms, tearing into her skin to raise trails of blood. Frederick had, by then, recovering enough from his shock to pin the man’s arms and legs down in a grip of iron.

                He was screaming beneath her hands as he felt fire fill his throat and lungs. This was more than just Robin’s wrath, it was Grima’s too. They were one in the same, weren’t they? Perhaps the fell dragon had been drawn in by the rage from within her, and had decided to contribute to her wishes.

                Fat tears fell from her face, slipping down the slope of her nose, where they sizzled when they met the agonizing burn that covered her hands, where flame rose to her wrists. She was exerting more magical energy than she ever had before, and it made her heart sweat.

                It was hard to make herself stop, even after Validar had stopped writhing beneath her. Frederick, unpinning the dead man from the floor, had to pull Robin off of him. They collapsed against each other, breathing hard. But it was no time to relax; Aversa could return at a moment, and would summon more guards to kill them, if not doing that outright herself. They may already find themselves surrounded if they tried to leave the throne room.

                Knowing this, they also knew they had no other choice. So, wrapped around each other, they fled from the throne room, the first sight they were met with being Frederick’s slain horse, which lay on it’s side, legs bent at awkward angles, breathing laboriously.

                Frederick detached himself from Robin and fell at his steed’s side, laying one hand over the patch of hair that there was angled a spear, right into a fluttering heart. His other hand hovered limply, wont and hopeless and disbelieving. The horse had been a foal when he was training to become a knight. Together, they had trained and taken hits and plowed through landscapes larger than themselves. It was too much to see it all come to an end. Frederick couldn’t stop himself before he begun to weep, throwing himself over the steed’s chest, clutching the space above it’s ribs where he felt a heartbeat pulse, then stop.

                Robin held her burned hands to her chest, though the pain was all but forgotten as she watched her knight weep. She wanted to comfort him, but there was nothing more that she could say than, “Frederick, I’m so sorry, but we have to move. We have to go.” She spoke through tears as her knees trembled.

                The shaking of his shoulders ceased, as he sniffed and nodded and stood, resigning himself to focus on their escape only. He wrapped an arm around Robin’s waist, and they again supported each other as they ducked into the shadows of the palace, running to leave. They heard footsteps in the distance, racing towards them, and they had to trip over themselves to escape it.

                It was a burst of relief to make it to the palace doors. They made their way from pillar to pillar as they stumbled down the countless stone steps, thanking Naga that the courtyard was near empty of citizens. Even if anyone had chanced to see them, covered in blood and sweat and fleeing like apparent thieves, it would be a small distraction from the other sight they would likely find much more miraculous.

                For the first time in Plegia that anyone living could remember, it was raining.


	12. Bridging the Gap, At Last

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I really am sorry this is so late. Following the attacks in Paris, I had little strength to do anything, let alone write. (The Frederick to my Robin actually lives there, and the terror of not knowing if he was okay took everything out of me. Thank god, he wasn't hurt.) I'd like to thank everyone who followed along with my first multi-chapter fic, and left such kind comments along the way. I hope this ending is a satisfying one.

Twilight had fallen, dark amber clouds hanging tiredly low in the sky as a weary breeze drifted across the near empty streets of the Plegian capitol. The rain had been a novelty, at first, until those who had flooded the streets in amazement had soon realized why they had relocated to the desert in the first place. The had yet to know the travesty that had occurred in the palace at the heart of the city, opting for ignorance as they huddled in their homes, pleasantly buzzed by the mystical turn of the weather.

                The rain pounded the streets, chilling the normally arid city. Despite the downpour, humidity was still thick in the air, creating a seal that was near impossible to breathe around. Sweat clung to the two absconders that fought to keep their eyes open wide enough to make out what was only feet ahead of them.

                Like two drunken pals, Robin and Frederick clung tight to each other as they committing themselves to the astounding feat of putting one foot in front of the other. When it became clear that they needed to rest, Frederick jerked his head to the side to indicate they duck into an alley, keeping as close to the walls as they could to avoid the curtain of rain that slid from the sloped rooftops.

                Frederick’s arm dropped from Robin’s waist as he doubled over against the stone, chest heaving. The adrenaline that had propelled him to toss his spear like a toothpick, and carry Robin as if she weighed as much as feather, had long since worn off. His knees buckled as he slid to the damp ground. He pushed his hair from his forehead, turning to see Robin, who was wincing tightly as she clutched her hands to her chest. The sizzling sound that ensued when she had poured the fire magic into her father’s chest still rang in his ears.

                “You need a healer.” He gasped, drawing closer so he could inspect her palms. The skin was raw, shiny and red. Robin swallowed, knowing he was right, but also knowing that the two couldn’t make another ten steps before collapsing.

                She opened her mouth to speak, but was silenced when they felt the cobblestone tremble beneath the strike of hooves against stone as the remaining soldiers that Plegia held were sent out in search of them. Frederick and Robin pressed against the alley wall, at a loss for breath once more. Aversa would likely send out Pegasus riders to scan the overhead anytime now, if she hadn’t already. Robin realized their best bet would be to lie low, out of sight, until the storm passed. Then they might be able to duck into a shop and nab a cloak for Frederick, some bread for them both, then make a mad dash from the city while the blood on their hands began to dry.

                Detaching his armored breast plate, Frederick searched his pockets for anything that might prove a morsel useful to them. Almost grinning, he withdrew a full bottle of elixir with some semblance of triumph, as much as his drawn features could manage. He passed it to Robin, who winced at the motion of curling her fingers around the top of the bottle. “We’ll split it,” She murmured, and he nodded, resigned from chivalry out of the monumental strain that weighed down his muscles.

                The elixir was unpleasantly warm, and clotted on her dry bottom lip. Robin shuddered a bit as she downed what she judged was half of the mixture before passing the bottle to Frederick. She felt some relief in her palms, and the pounding headache at the base of her skull, a sort of tingling too. It still hurt when she flexed her hands, though, so she kept them still in her lap.

                She didn’t know what to say to him.

                The image of all the slain bodies, fallen to his hand, rose to her mind. She shuddered. He did that for her.

                “Validar . . . ” Robin began. The tingling in her hands reminded her of the way he had writhed beneath her as she drained the life right from under him.

                “He’s dead now. He got what he deserved.” Frederick shivered as from a loose shingle, the weight of rainwater coursing through the roof’s gutter overflowed and dropped an icy slew of water onto his head. It felt like death, sliding a finger down his neck, chilling his spine.

                In a whip like movement, he reached out and pulled Robin tightly against him. She willingly complied, turned her face into his armor as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “I don’t think death is the worst thing that could happen to someone.” Her voice, jagged, was kept to a low whisper, as if a soldier would ambush them at any moment. “But I hope it was for him.”

                “For me,” Frederick croaked, fighting off another shudder as the rainwater sopped into his suit, “the worst thing that could happen would be losing one that I love. That nearly happened today.”

                “You-?” Robin couldn’t finish the question, the words that flushed her body with an exhilarated numbness. With the renewed burst of energy, Frederick grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her to him. His lips crashed down on hers, bearing the weight of his worry and the joy of their reunion.

                “I know that as your husband I am saying this far too late, but I am so madly in love with you.” He whispered against her mouth, his fingers curling into her damp hair.

                Robin’s lips were pulled back into a disfigured sneer as she fought the sob crawling up her throat from spilling past her lips. Fresh tears rose to her eyes, which the knight wiped away with a caressing sweep of his thumb. “How could you say that when you know what I am? When I’m responsible for the end of the world?”

                She could feel it, now. Within her, a darkness lingered. Her father may be dead, but that hadn’t erased his prophecy. If what he said was true, which in held their best interests to believe, she was kin to the fell dragon Grima. It would certainly explain the mark on her hand. The dreams.

                Frederick cradled her face in his hands, firm and unyielding, as was the adoring look he laid upon her. “You could never be a monster to me. We’ll find a way to fight Grima, together. What ever happens from this point forward, we’ll do it together.”

                Robin blinked away her tears and tightened her arms around his neck. “I love you.”” She whispered, feeling his arms tighten around her back as she said it. “I love you beyond feeling. Gods, I’m so sorry I ever left you.” Tears cut tracks through the grime that coated her cheeks, fat tears that splashed onto the front of Frederick’s suit.

                He buried his face into her neck, his lips a breath away from grazing her collarbone. “Shh,” He began to stoke her back, which caused a tremor to run through her before she pressed closer to him. “What matter now is that you’re here. We’re here.”

                Yes, there they were, and back at camp, was their son. She thought of Morgan, the image of his face in her mind bringing an unbidden smile to her face. She would see him again, and she would hold him and promise, mean it, to never let go.

                She raised her head to meet Frederick’s gaze. She dragged her fingertips down the chiseled slope of his cheek, wanting to memorize every facet of him. She paused, though, when she noticed a certain absent from her left hand. “Oh,” She exclaimed, noting for the first time that her ring was missing. “Aversa must have nabbed it when I was out. The diamond would certainly serve to restocking their encampment, damn her.”

                “I’ll buy you a new one.” Frederick told her, seemingly unfazed by the theft of one of Ylisse’s heirlooms. He took her hand to lay tender kisses to her knuckle, mindful of the raw skin beneath. “A real one. Robin,” He raised his eyes to meet hers, looking at her as fondly as he had kissed her. “Will you marry me?”

                Her breath caught in her throat. Her face was split in a smile, the widest he had ever seen, as she nodded with fervor, finality. She took his face in her hands again, ignoring the sting in her palms, drew him close to lay her lips upon his. She could taste the elixir, and the sweat, and the desperation that had been building since this morning, maybe longer.

                Their teeth knocked against each other, tongues sliding over the other as they stitched themselves together, creating a bubble to shield themselves from the rain, which had been strengthened by strong gusts of wind plowing through the streets, following the brigand of soldiers that were likely still searching for them.

                Robin moaned, pushing her fingers into his hair. He bit lightly on her lip, enticing her closer to him. They sealed themselves against the other like this for quite some time, until the second wave of adrenaline from that morning had elapsed and faded.

                Robin drew away, sliding her tongue over her lips, which were tingling with a warm sensation. She moved herself off of Frederick’s chest to settle in by his side, sliding out of her cloak to cover them both with it, like a blanket.

                “Sleep, Frederick.” She whispered tenderly. His eyelids had already begun to droop, though he roused himself enough to tighten his hold around her. “We’ll find our way home tomorrow.”

                “I already am home.” He whispered against her temple, his eyes still closed. She had never heard anything more sincere. Robin curled against her love, smiling fully. She pressed another kiss to his cheek before laying her head against his chest, allowing her eyes to flutter shut.

“I am too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "As your husband I know I am saying this far too late, but I am so madly in love with you." was actually the first line I wrote for this fic, and was the inspiration for the story.  
> Again, thanks for keeping up with this story. I truly hope you enjoyed it! :)
> 
> -AV


End file.
